


The Perks of Being Smarter Than Everyone Gives You Credit For

by alphasaceraptor, Orcusnox (Cat9894)



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), spideypool - Fandom
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sapiosexual!Peter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-06-02 01:04:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 32,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6544174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alphasaceraptor/pseuds/alphasaceraptor, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cat9894/pseuds/Orcusnox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter Parker, your friendly neighbourhood Spider-man, is sapiosexual. You'd think, working as an intern under Tony Stark and Bruce Banner, he'd have his pick of the best brains around. But apparently not.</p>
<p>Someone's been lying about how smart a certain mercenary <i>actually</i> is, and that puts Peter in a sticky situation when said mercenary starts interacting with <i>Peter</i>. And with trouble brewing at Stark Industries, you just know this is going to be a wild ride...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Chapter Where Everyone Is Introduced (Most of The Important People, Anyway)

**Author's Note:**

> I write Peter, alphasaceraptor writes Wade.

   Peter Parker, aka Spider-man, was perched on the roof of a building somewhere in New York. His toes were curled over the edge, and he was watching the pedestrians milling about below him. The sound of traffic was quieter, muted – up here, it was the wind that was loud.

    What was also loud were the obnoxious footsteps _attempting_ to creep up on him. Peter sighed, loud enough for the approaching mercenary to hear him. It wasn’t the first time the other man had had a go at trying to sneak up on him, and Peter doubted it would be the last.

    “Evening, Deadpool,” he said, silently counting down in his head. _Three, two, one…_

    “What’s a guy gotta do to sneak up on you, Spidey?” Deadpool harrumphed and skipped over to him, bending precariously over the edge. A gentle nudge would send him falling, if Peter felt so inclined. “I saw your cute little toes and I just _had_ to come say hi!”

    Peter sighed again. It was something he anticipated doing around Deadpool all the time, especially given the way the Avengers talked about him. The word ‘idiot’ was used a lot. Also ‘insane’, ‘unhinged’. Both of which mean exactly the same thing, and made Peter wonder just how smart some of the Avengers actually were.

    It would explain why he’d never had a crush on any of them, really. Except maybe Banner. He was undeniably intelligent. Tony _would_ be on the list, but he acted too much like a spoiled brat. The other Avengers weren’t exactly _dumb_ , per se, but it was a different kind of smarts than he liked.

    “Um, earth to Spidey?” Deadpool waved a gloved hand in front of Peter’s face, making him jerk backwards in surprise. “Sorry, but you _totally_ zoned out there, and I was a little worried that you were gonna fall off the edge and go _splat_ like a Spidey pancake, and we can’t have that because you’re a good guy! Me? I can go splat at any time of the day, and literally no one would care.”

    “I’m sure the people that have to clean up your mess care,” Peter replied. And yeah, okay. Maybe that was a little mean, but Peter knew it was better to keep his relationship with the mercenary as distant as possible.

    “Stay away from him,” the Avengers had said, but clearly _they_ had never been stalked by the ridiculously persistent man.

    “Oh, _ouch_. That one stung.” Deadpool slapped both hands over his heart and pretended to swoon. Peter watched him, unimpressed. “I’m going to go out on a limb and say the Avengers have given you the little speech about me,” he continued, drawing himself back up. “‘He’s insane, unstable, _unhinged_!’” he said, pitching his voice higher than should be possible for a man of his size. “You’d think they’d be more creative – they all mean the same thing!”

    And… _Wait_. Huh?

    “And they like to call _me_ dangerous! Have you seen the shit they do to this city? I mean, yes okay, they’re battling bad guys,” Deadpool kicked at the ground, and even with the mask Peter could see his scowl, “but the amount of damage they cause isn’t easily fixed, you know? I play with bombs, but at least _I_ can do the simple math. Sometimes. When all systems are online and functional.”

    Peter tilted his head. “They told me you had no idea about the file.”

    Deadpool shook a finger. “File _s_ , Spidey. Plural. More than one. Multiple. _Expediente_. _Dossier_. _Archiefstukken_. Files.”

    And damn it all to hell if that wasn’t a little bit hot. There was nothing in the files that indicated Deadpool could speak a second language. Or a third. Or apparently, a fourth. He shifted a little uncomfortably, a blush creeping up his neck.

    “The point is, I know about them all,” Deadpool said. “Yes, I know. No, I wasn’t _there_. You know exactly how I found out about them. I’m not gonna tell him _that_! Oh, great idea! _Of course_ I was being sarcastic.”

    Peter frowned. “Who are you talking to?”

    Deadpool flapped a hand at him. “Wait your turn,” he insisted.

    Peter wasn’t offended. And he wasn’t trying to be rude. It was just that he heard a scream and without a second thought he was leaping off the roof, leaving Deadpool behind.

 

* * *

  

    Peter Parker had managed to get a position at Stark Industries, as an intern working under Tony Stark and Bruce Banner. Neither man had spent enough time with Peter to realize that he was, in fact, a superhero – they knew him as the skinny, dorky twenty year old intern who worked in biochemistry and genetics. He was far from the only intern, and he did everything possible not to stand out.

    If Jarvis had figured it out, he hadn’t said anything to Tony.

    “Hey, you! Intern!” Tony called, and everyone turned to look at him. Tony had that kind of presence, Peter thought.

    “Me?” he asked, because Tony was bearing down on _him_ , Bruce following at a more sedate pace.

    “Yes you. Don’t make me repeat myself, I hate it.” Tony clicked his fingers as he walked passed, and Peter threw a curious glance at Bruce. The mild-mannered man sighed and beckoned for Peter to follow.

    “You work down in Lab Seven and Eight, right?” Tony asked. “Biochemistry and genetics?”

    “Yes, Mr Stark,” Peter replied easily.

    Tony paused to glance at Peter over his shoulder, his dark eyes piercing. “Tony, please. Mr Stark was my father.”

    And _everyone_ knew _that_ was not a great topic. Peter offered an apologetic smile. “Yes, Tony.”

    “There’s been a bit of an… Incident in Lab Seven,” Tony said.

    Peter frowned – the last time he’d checked, all the tests had been running normally. And that had been less than twenty minutes ago. What could have happened in twenty minutes? “Can I ask what you mean by _incident_?” he asked.

    “Mercenaries,” Tony muttered, voice pitched too low for Peter to have heard him under normal circumstances.

    What could have happened in twenty minutes? Why, of course, Deadpool. At least, Peter was pretty sure it would be Deadpool. Because he didn’t know any other mercenaries that made a point of hanging out with the Avengers. Not enough to be annoying, anyway.

    “We had a break in,” Bruce explained from beside him. “No one was hurt, and nothing was stolen, but some of the tests may have been compromised. At this point, you’re the most senior intern who works in both biochemistry and genetics. We need you to make sure that everything is running smoothly, and if we need to restart any experiments.”

    “And that is why, as of now, you are my most favourite person,” Tony said.

    Peter nodded, cheeks a little red. So sue him – being complimented by Tony Stark was something of a big deal. And Tony _did_ actually seem to like him. For some weird reason. Sometimes, Tony even remembered his name. Not today, maybe, but then again, he probably has more on his mind than usual.

    With an entire company to take care of, it made sense that Tony and Bruce didn’t know every minor detail that was going on within each lab. Especially considering how _much_ happened. But Peter hadn’t really thought that he’d be called upon in an emergency like this.

    “When do you need to know?” he asked, mentally tallying up the hours he would have to spend in the lab.

    “As soon as possible,” Tony replied, stepping through a pair of sliding doors. “In fact, if you get it done by this afternoon I’ll give you a raise.”

    Peter raised an eyebrow, pushing his glasses back up his nose. “I don’t really think that’s possible by anyone’s calculations,” Peter said, following Tony into the familiar lab. For once, he didn’t need to sign in – Tony waved the concerned security guard away. “Or their abilities.”

    His eyes widened when he saw the damage. Someone had bled in the lab, literally _everywhere_. Hell, it was even up the _walls_. Beakers were shattered, their contents splattered across the floor in much the same way as the blood. He blinked, taken aback. Wasn’t that a little too much blood for one person?

    It was very clear that there’d been a fight in the lab. Even without all the blood, there was too much damage for it to be anything else. Peter turned to gape at Tony.

    His boss shrugged. “I know. But we handled it, and that’s the main thing.”

    “‘ _We_ ’ handled it?” demanded an incredibly annoying, incredibly familiar, and mostly expected voice. Peter’s entire body went wire tense before he relaxed purposely. Right now, he was not Spider-man. “Listen here, Tin Can, you did _jack shit_. You crashed the fucking party.”

    Deadpool unstuck himself from the corner he’d been hiding in, suspiciously quiet and unnoticed. Peter’s spider sense hadn’t even registered him. Peter shifted a little awkwardly, sending a slightly frightened but inquisitive look towards Bruce, who was looking a little green around the gills. _That_ couldn’t be good.

    Peter turned back around to find Deadpool very much in his face, and had to control the urge to leap away.

    “Helloooo, cutey,” Deadpool said, leaning in even closer. Peter arched away, instincts screaming at him to step back, step back, _step the fuck back_! He was only Peter Parker in this situation, not Spider-man, and Peter Parker would _never_ be able to stand toe to toe with the likes of Deadpool.

    “Back away from my intern, Deadpool,” Tony said sharply. “You were supposed to _leave_.”

    Deadpool hummed thoughtfully, pulling back out of Peter’s face. “I left, and then I came back,” he replied. “Because _you_ didn’t listen to me when you really should have. I don’t like it when people ignore me, you know. _Especially_ if I’m wearing nice clothes.”

    He waved at himself, and Peter realized that Deadpool was wearing an honest to God _evening dress_ over his torn and tattered suit. He very much had no idea what to think, and settled for gaping.

    Deadpool giggled. “I made him _speechless_ ,” he whispered. Peter blinked, because he was very clearly not talking to anyone in the room.

    “Who are you talking to?” was out of his mouth before he had a chance to check himself, and if he had the luxury he would scowl and give himself a thorough talking to.

    Deadpool’s attention was immediately fixed back on him, although Peter wasn’t stupid enough to think it had been off him, or anyone else in the room, for any length of time. Even if Peter had only met the mercenary a few times, he’d noticed a sort of tension about him that never really faded away. He always seemed to know where people were, even if he wasn’t looking.

    “Who’s asking, sugar?” Deadpool winked. Peter could see it under the mask. Peter’s mouth dropped open again.

    “I said, leave my intern alone,” Tony demanded, his voice getting that hard ‘Iron Man’ quality he pretended he didn’t like to use.

    “Your name can’t be intern,” Deadpool said, acting like he couldn’t hear Tony. “I don’t know anyone named _intern_. Can you imagine? ‘Come down for dinner, Intern!’ ‘Do the chores, Intern!’ ‘Have you fed the cat, Intern?’”

    Peter snorted. The sound was entirely accidental, and he was quick to slap a hand over his mouth in alarm. He knew his eyes were wide behind the lens of his glasses, but it wasn’t because of fear. It was because he found Deadpool _amusing_.

    Deadpool giggled again, mouth stretched in a wide grin underneath his mask. “Oh, I like you. You’re cute. And you seem smarter than him.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, indicating Tony. The billionaire’s jaw was clenched way, way too tight.

    Peter thought it was probably a miracle his teeth hadn’t cracked yet.

    Peter felt a gentle tug on his arm, and instinctively looked to Bruce. He was less green, and the smile he gave Peter was just as gentle and kind as all the other ones. But there was something in his eyes, so Peter let himself be pulled back, let Bruce slide himself in front of Peter, and resisted the urge to scowl at the back of Bruce’s head.

    He could look after himself.

    “Why don’t you tell us why you came back?” Bruce asked pleasantly.

    Deadpool bounced on his toes. “Like I said, Greenie, you guys didn’t pay attention to me! Heh. Greenie, Genie! I dub thee Greenie Genie!” He snickered to himself. “I have a pot big enough for you somewhere, I swear. Maybe not a lamp, but still. Pot, kettle, am I right?”

    “I’m paying attention now,” Bruce said, and Peter marvelled that he could sound so patient.

    “Thank you,” Deadpool gushed. He turned to Tony. “This is why I like _him_ better,” he said, throwing Tony the finger. He turned back around with a flourish. “Now, I didn’t ‘break in’. I mean, I broke the window, sure, but it was that or hit the wall, and I figured I actually had a better chance of living and stopping shit from going down if I hit the window.”

    Peter made an incredulous sound. “You destroyed the lab,” he said, and once again he congratulated himself on bringing unwanted attention to himself. “Should I leave?” he muttered to Bruce.

    “ _No_!” Deadpool wailed. “Let the cutey stay!”

    “Deadpool!” Tony shouted.

    “What, _mother_?”

    Peter snorted. Again.

 

* * *

* * *

 

    The cute intern snorted. Again.

    Wade blinked in amazement at the kid and ignored the indignant noise Stark made at being called 'Mother'.

    {Oh em gee. That little nerd is so adorable!} Yellow squealed shrilly through Wade's head.

    [Snorts are not adorable. They're gross.] White mentally gagged.

    {Your face is gross.}

    [No. _Our_ face is gross. We all share a face, idiot.]

    Deadpool remembered at the last second to keep his response to his boxes internal. _Pretty sure this face is all mine, guys. Now shut the fuck up, I'm trying to explain myself here._

    Wade clapped his gloved hands together, the leather making a satisfyingly loud sound. The intern peeking around Banner jumped and his eyes widened behind his large glasses. Intern glanced at Banner like he was expecting a little noise to make the Good Doctor go green. Banner was just staring patiently at Wade while Stark pouted in Wade's peripheral.

    "Pause for dramatic effect," Wade whispered causing three sets of eyes to roll simultaneously. "So I broke in through the window because you had a couple of spies in the building. And I don't mean Scary Assassin Lady and Bird Brain No. 1. I mean a couple of spies that managed to infiltrate a tower that hosts the superest of the supers and to get past an all-seeing AI. I mean seriously, JARVIS? Do you not run background checks anymore?"

    He directed that question slightly up and to the side so he felt like he was talking to an actual person because he ironically felt awkward talking to a disembodied voice that wasn't in his head.

    "I already talked with JARVIS about that after you left." Stark waved his hand impatiently through the air. "Tell me how you knew before JARVIS did, Wilson?"

    {Um. Are we gonna admit that we have been spying too?}

    [Do we want them to know that we've been gathering intel on them for future reference? No. They have their files. We have ours.]

    {We have files? On who?}

    White sighed deeply. [The Avengers, idiot. Who we've been teaming up with more recently. We've been doing their dirty work remember?]

    {Oh yeah! That's why we've been killing people less. Working for the Avengers is boooring.}

    [And it pays shit.]

    {Then why the hell are we doing it? I like money. Money buys fooood. And ammo.]

    "We're doing it because it makes me happy," Wade said out loud before he could stop himself. The intern blinked in confusion and Banner just tilted his head.

    "Wade?" Banner actually managed to look slightly concerned and Wade couldn't really handle that so he flapped a hand through the air like he could disperse his crazy.

    "Spies. Right. So I just _happened_ to have been in the neighbourhood. I was in a charitable mood and thought 'I bet the Avengers have something for me to handle' but I saw Hill leaving and I only take missions from her. I was just gonna go old school heroing like Spidey does and check every dark alley for purse snatchers but I _happened_ to see two nerdy looking dudes standing outside with their heads together whispering. Something about it set off my 'pooly-senses'. I watched one go in and then the other waited a few minutes before following. Weird, right? So I scaled the building next door and kept a look out for them."

    "How did you know where they would go?" Banner squeezed in the question when Deadpool paused for breath.

    "Well duh! Their labcoats, silly. I kept an eye on all the floors with labs and the building I was on had an awesome vantage point for watching people sign into said labs. But the only ones required to sign in are interns, right?"

    "Wait. They were interns too?" Cutey cut in while leaning around Banner. Stark nodded.

    "Again. Something we already knew, Wilson. Keep going." Stark crossed his arms over his chest and radiated impatience. Wade flipped him off again.

    "I saw Nerd Spy 1 sign in on floor eight and Nerd Spy 2 sign in on floor six. It was getting pretty boring at this point but they were just pretending to do work so that held my suspicions. They were waiting for this lab to clear because they left at the same time and came here." Deadpool paused and looked around. "Which lab is this anyway? Biochemistry? Yeah, totally biochem. I can think of like nine slightly dubious to outright evil organizations that would love to break in. But it's _totes_ obvious who was behind this."

    "Care to share with the class? Because you kinda killed them before I could stop you." Stark gestured at all the blood around the lab.

    "I didn't kill both of them. Just the one with the scalpel that he pocketed from genetics. He got a couple of lucky hits in and cut open some important parts of my circulatory system. Hence the pretty arterial blood sprays on the wall."

    [We've been watching too much forensic crime shows.]

    {Whodunnits are awesome though.}

    "Crime shows are awesome when they get the forensics right."

    "Wade, focus," Banner cut in and Stark stomped closer to the merc.

    "What the hell do you mean you only killed one of them? I came in right when you were strangling the other one."

    "Are you blind, Tin Man? Did you not see him foaming at the mouth? I was _trying_ to stop him from swallowing a fucking cyanide pill. I was going to keep him alive to find out what the hell they were up to. But _oh no_ you told me to drop him and to leave." Wade pouted, throwing his hands dramatically into the air. "I only listened because I really hate taking a repulser beam to the chest."

    "You didn't say who they were," Cute intern reminded him, and then made a face like he wanted to suck the words back in.

    {I can think of some things I'd like him to suck.}

    "Me too," Wade mumbled and stared intently at the intern. Stark waved a hand in front of his face.

    "Eyes off my intern, Deadpool. Answer the question."

    "Oh my frick fracking gah!" Wade threw his hands in the air again. Why were they so _oblivious_? "It's Hydra! Who the fuck else could it be?

    Banner shook his head. "You said that you knew other organizations that would love to get in here. A.I.M.? HammerTech? How do you know for sure it was Hydra?"

    "They've gone completely dark since Cap's shitstorm at S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters." Stark shook his head too. Wade would be pulling his hair out if he had any.

    "I really _really_ hate being ignored. You're supposed to listen to a lady in a pretty dress. Look, I might not have Captain's experience with Hydra but I know a Hydra agent when I see one."

    [We hung out enough with Bob to know. That's for damn sure.]

    {I miss Bob. He cooked and cleaned. Can we get him back?}

    [He cried for his family too much.]

    {Oh yeah. Tears are icky.}

    Stark scoffed. "Only one way to solve this. Hey JARVIS? Are the bodies finished being examined?"

    "Yes, sir," JARVIS responded and Wade suppressed a slightly creeped out shudder. "The first died of blood lose from Mr. Wilson's defensive counter attacks and the second died from the ingestion of cyanide."

    "Told ya, Iron Dick."

    "Shut it, Wilson."

    JARVIS seemed to sigh quietly before continuing. "I have also gone over their backgrounds again and found nothing amiss. Yet after second review I place the likelihood of them being a part of Hydra at 82%."

    "Ha! Good enough for me! In ya face, Sparky Starky." Wade jabbed a finger at Stark who slapped it away.

    "Fine." Stark turned to Banner, who was starting to look a little peeved. "We need to call a meeting."

    "I can't believe this," Banner grumbled and pulled his glasses off to rub at his eyes in frustration.

    "JARVIS. Call everyone and tell them to get here ASAP."

    "Of course, sir."

    "And you." Stark took his turn to jab a finger at Wade. "You'll be there too."

    " _Moi_?!" Wade fluttered his hands against his chest.

    {Did we just get invited to an Avengers meeting?}

    [It would appear so.]

    "What have I done to deserve this?" Wade cried.

    "A lot, I'm sure." Stark pointed to the door. "Get your ass up to the meeting room, Wilson."

    Wade whined loudly but began making his way out of the lab. He was out the door when he heard Banner and Stark talk to the intern. He spun around on his heel and poked his head back in to watch.

    "Are you okay to be in here?" Banner had a hand on the kid's shoulder.

    "We really need you to start working on saving what you can. Someone will be in here to clean up the blood in a few," Stark pleaded and was probably using puppy eyes but Wade couldn't see his face from this angle.

    "I'm fine, guys. I can handle the blood. Go be superheroes." The intern smiled at them and Wade melted a little.

    "Just tell JARVIS everything. We'll be back as soon as we can." Banner and Stark turned in unison and made their way towards Wade. Their heads were close together and they were whispering so they hadn't noticed him yet.

    "Think we should tell Spider-man? See if he knows anything?" Banner asked but Stark was already shaking his head.

    "We don't know how to contact him."

    [Interesting.]

    {They want Spidey!}

    "Don't we all?" Wade responded wistfully, causing three heads to turn to his direction.

    "Deadpool. Didn't I tell you to go?"

    "But, mom. I wanted to say bye to the pretty intern." He waggled his fingers at the dazed looking kid and giggled when he hesitantly waved back. "Bye bye, pretty nerd."

    "For God's sake, leave my poor intern alone!" Wade giggled again and flounced back into the hallway. He cackled when he heard a shout follow him.

    "And take the damn dress off!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Expediente. Dossier. Archiefstukken._ \- 'Files' in Spanish, French and Dutch respectively (according to Google Translate)
> 
> Don't forget to leave us a comment!


	2. The Chapter Where Peter Couldn't Be A Bigger Nerd If He Tried And Deadpool Is Scary Smart

    “… And that’s everything for the Molecular Biology studies,” Peter said, marking off the experiments on his little cheat sheet. He’d made it during his second week of interning, and the habit had stuck for the next two years.

    When Tony had first found out about his little cheat sheet, Peter had been called into his office and endured a shouting at that would have made most grown men cry. Tony had been furious at the supposed breach of security, and had even threatened to fire him if he didn’t destroy it.

    That was until Peter had actually shown him the cheat sheet – it was actually a little book, pocket sized. Peter’s cheat sheet was basically unreadable to _anyone_ , partly because he’d been lazy writing it out and some of his 9’s looked like 4’s or q’s, and partly because Peter had made up his own shorthand.

    So yeah. Peter kept a cheat sheet. And it _had_ been stolen a couple of times, but ultimately it became known that Peter’s cheat sheet was _completely incomprehensible_ and therefore totally useless to everyone except him.

    “Hey, Jarvis, didn’t Mr. Stark say there would be someone coming in to clean up?” Peter asked, carefully skirting the congealing pools of blood. “It’s sure taking them a while.”

    “It is entirely possible the thought slipped his mind, Mr. Parker,” the AI replied. “My systems indicate that no clean-up crew has been requested.”

    Peter sighed, frowning at the puddles of blood. “I suppose at least the floor’s not carpet,” he muttered. “Blood is _impossible_ to get out of carpet once it’s dry.”

    “And how would a little science geek like you know _that_?”

    Peter yelped in surprise, whirling around. He definitely wasn’t used to people being able to sneak up on him. His foot slipped and – oh _crap_ , he was going to land in the blood! Before he could hit the ground, a strong hand wrapped around his wrist and yanked him back to his feet.

    Peter spent a few seconds processing the fact that he _hadn’t_ landed in the blood before he felt brave enough to lift his head and look Deadpool in the eyes. Or, well. In the mask.

    “Thank you,” he said, because his aunt had always taught him to be polite.

    “No sweat, buttercup,” the mercenary chirped, fingers still tight around Peter’s wrist.

    Peter looked pointedly at his wrist, expecting the other man to let go. But Peter had, _apparently_ , forgotten who he was dealing with, because Deadpool just grinned and pulled him further away from the blood.

    Peter found himself pushed into one of the lab chairs. Deadpool arranged himself on the desk so that his legs hung on either side of Peter’s chair. When Peter started to push his chair away, Deadpool shook his head.

    “Don’t leave me, Intern!” he said, sounding playful.

    “Aren’t you supposed to be in a meeting?” Peter asked.

    Deadpool grinned. “That shit got boring _real_ fast,” he replied. “Besides, I know all I need to know, right? Some idiots tried to steal from the wrong guy, I just happened to be around to help. Oh, and Stark hired me to help him keep an eye on things. I’m hired help!”

    Peter tilted his head. “And usually you’re what?”

    “A hired gun,” Deadpool replied easily.

    “Oh,” Peter said. He went to move away again, but both of Deadpool’s boots hooked in the back of his chair and dragged him back. “I, uh, should go back to work,” Peter said.

    “But that’s _boring_ ,” Deadpool whined. “Stay and chat with me.”

    “But I –” _I don’t_ want _to talk to you_.

    Deadpool giggled, clapping his gloved hands. “You said butt! Look, you’re really, really cute. Can you just sit there for, say, five minutes and let me look at you?”

    “I don’t think that’s the best idea?”

    “Oh don’t worry, cutey, your face is totally going to star in my dreams tonight.”

    Peter felt himself flush. “That’s _exactly_ what I’m worried about,” he said.

    “Mr. Deadpool, please release Mr. Parker,” Jarvis said.

    “Intern Parker?” Deadpool asked, tilting his head to the side. “Nah, I don’t like it. Doesn’t sound right, ya know?”

    “I –” Peter started, not sure where he was going with that sentence. But Deadpool jumped off the desk and walked away, flicking through a little book that looked like – Peter checked his pockets. “Give that back,” he demanded hotly, holding out his hand.

    “Wah, this?” Deadpool waved Peter’s cheat sheet book at him. “You’ll have to come and get it, _Mr. Parker_!” He spun on his heel and darted away, cackling madly.

    And that was how Peter found himself chasing a mercenary through Stark Industries.

 

* * *

  

    After the eventful day he’d had, Peter was all for patrol being simple. Maybe a mugging, some idiots brawling after drinking too much.

    But no. He got Doctor Connors, in all his lizard-y glory, popping out of the sewers to say _hi_. And also, obviously, to throw him into buildings and leave him feeling like one great big bruise. The fight wasn’t long, and Peter did win, but being thrown into buildings _hurt_.

    “Smooth moves, baby boy!”

    Peter glanced up sharply, an arm wrapped around his ribs. “What are you doing here?” he demanded. “Aren’t you supposed to be watching Stark Tower?”

    “Well, I _was_. But then I heard the sounds of fighting and just had to come check it out,” Deadpool replied, bouncing around him with all the energy of a five-year old. Peter noticed absently that he’d lost the dress. “But,” Deadpool continued, abruptly stopping in front of Peter, “how did _you_ know about _that_?”

    _Shit_. “I have ears all over the city,” Peter said calmly. “You think I play around when I say I’m protecting this city, Deadpool?”

    “But me keeping an eye on Stark’s Tower is hardly protecting the city.”

    “ _Why_ you’re doing it is. So why don’t you share with the class?”

    Deadpool cocked his head. “I know,” he muttered. “Almost… You think? Makes sense… Nah!”

    Peter made a frustrated noise. “ _Who_ are you talking to?”

    “Oh, baby boy,” the mercenary cooed. “I love it when you get all forceful.”

    “Why won’t you just answer?” Peter demanded.

    “Because you’ve read the files, Spidey,” Deadpool snapped back, abruptly sounding annoyed. “Look, I get that the file might not have been the most interesting thing you’ve read – you sound like a nerd, are you secretly a nerd Spidey? – but could you at least pay attention for the important parts? I mean _seriously_. Rude.”

    Peter frowned. “Look, Deadpool. The file I read – there was only one, remember? – didn’t say _anything_ about you chatting to no one. Or, apparently, someone who isn’t there. So forgive my curiosity, I’ll just leave.”

    He almost threw his hands up in the air, but at the last second remembered his probably broken ribs. There was something wrong with his ankle, too – when he walked away from Deadpool, it was less of a _stalking away_ and more of a _limping away_. Which mostly destroyed whatever pride he’d had.

    To say he was surprised to feel a hand catch his arm and pull him to a stop was an understatement. Peter turned to find Deadpool hovering behind him, almost looking apologetic.

    “I sort of don’t know why I snapped,” Deadpool said, before Peter could get a word in edgewise. “But I didn’t mean it. In fact, I would much prefer that you pay absolutely _no_ attention to the files. I would be grateful, even. They don’t exactly paint a guy in the best light. It’s unflattering.”

    “With what you’ve done,” Peter replied, “and with what you _do_ , I imagine the light you get painted in is red.”

    Deadpool hissed. “Damn, Spidey, pull your punches! That one kind of hurt.”

    “The truth usually does,” Peter said bluntly.

    “Yes, I _fucking know_ he’s got a damn point… Look, I don’t need the reminder… You _what_? How is that a good idea… _Fine_.” Deadpool, squeezed Peter’s arm gently. “You’re hurt,” he said. “Can I help you?”

    “Thanks,” Peter replied, “but I think I’ll be fine.”

    He shook off the mercenary’s hand and flicked out a web, hauling himself onto the roof of the nearest building. He didn’t look back, suddenly concerned he’d see Deadpool looking all forlorn and feel the urge to comfort him. He was _supposed_ to be staying away from the mercenary!

    When Peter finally arrived back at his apartment, he stayed awake long enough to undress and then pull on a pair of long pants. He fell into bed with and exhausted sigh and a hiss of pain.

 

* * *

* * *

 

    Wade was settled in on his new favourite roof, the one that had allowed him to swing into the window of Stark Tower and save the day. It was perfect in multiple ways. It was about a third shorter than the Tower but he was still able to see if anyone entered through the roof and he could see all the way down to the ground level entry. It faced all the more interesting labs and tech rooms.

    And probably the best part was that it was just far enough away from the other building that he could see almost everything but no one could see him thanks to the overhang he was shadowed under.

    {The security here kinda sucks. Shouldn't they at least have some dudes on some of these roofs?}

    [Why? They got a building full of superheroes and trained agents. And an AI. They probably thought that eyesore would never actually get broke into.]

    {They're cocky. Hehe!}

    "Ha. Cock." Wade chuckled and then refocused his attention. He had been spending the last few minutes watching the labs as the next set of interns came in to relieve the ones that worked in the morning.

    {When does Pretty Parker come in? He's fun!}

    [You mean when does Spide-]

    "We are not having this conversation again," Wade cut White off. "Just because he sounds like Spidey, has the same height and shoulder width as Spidey, and he kinda acted weird around me like he already knew me, doesn't mean he's Spidey."

    {I think there was some more clues than that? What were they again?}

    [How about the fact that he asks the same annoying questions as Spider-man? Or how quickly he could move when he was chasing after us for that book. Or the weird thing with the-]

    "Alright! Shit. I get it." Wade stood up and stretched. "I'm still not entirely convinced but here comes another chance to see who's right."

    Parker had just came into sight and was moving as quickly as a slight limp would allow. He made his way to Lab Seven which was now guarded by two agents and roped off with caution tape. Parker sheepishly showed a badge to them and then ducked under the tape. He shut the lab door behind him.

    [You did see how he was walking, right? Hmm... Who was it again that we saw with a limp? Oh yeah, it was Spider-man.]

    "Your smartass level is off the charts today, Whitey." Wade began making his way down the building. White radiated smugness while Yellow squealed shrilly.

    {I have an idea! I know a way to tell for sure if Pretty Parker is Spidey!}

    [Here we go.]

    "Oh, do tell." Wade's voice was thick with sarcasm. He made his way across the busy street towards the Tower, the people of NYC not even bothering to give a guy talking to himself in a full spandex and leather costume a second glance.

    {His ass! We look at his ass and compare it to Spidey's. THE ASS CAN'T LIE!}

    "That...is actually a good idea, Yellow." Wade grinned under his mask as he strode through the lobby. He waved at the lady at the front desk when she looked up. She gestured over to the elevators with a dismissive hand.

    White snorted. [Only one problem. How are we going to see his ass? He has to wear a lab coat at all times.]

    "I'll figure out something," Wade said evilly as he stepped into the semi-crowded lift. A few people squeezed up against the walls to get as far away from him as possible.

    {Maybe we can get the creepy not-robot to crank the heat up.}

    [You're only capable of one good idea every blue fucking moon. You've filled your quota.]

    {I don't know what you mean. I'm totally full of good ideas. Tell him, big guy!}

    "Yeah, I'm gonna have to go with Whitey on that." The elevator dinged to a stop on his floor and he hopped out. A few people sighed in relief before the doors slid shut behind him.

    {BUT I THOUGHT I WAS YOUR FAVOURITE BOX!}

    [I'm not here to play favourites.]

    "I've told you two before. I hate both you bitches equally." Wade started to skipped down the hall towards the two agents who were watching him warily. He slid to a stop in front of them and curtseyed, the effect lessened by the lack of a skirt.

    "Hiya! I'm totally allowed to be in here." Wade pointed to the door and then back at himself. "I gotta watch the intern do boring science."

    The guards stepped to the side after exchanging glances. Wade blew them a kiss as he opened the door and plucked the caution tape out of his way. Wade was instantly greeted by an opened palm shoved near his face. He stared down at the intern who had his other hand placed on his hip.

    "Whatcha want, cutey?" Wade shut the door behind him and stepped into the intern's space. Parker stepped back but kept his hand held out. "Wanna hold hands?"

    Parker frowned and narrowed his eyes. "You know what I want. Give me my book back."

    "This little thing?" Wade pulled the cheat book out of one of his pouches and held it over his head when Parker made grabby hands for it. "Nuh uh, silly. You'll have to go without your cheats."

    "Why?" Parker growled and looked like he was barely suppressing the urge to stomp his foot. Or maybe web him to the wall. No, wait, he still didn’t know for sure! "I need them, Deadpool."

    "No ya don't." Wade made a show of studying the book even though he spent hours doing it the day before. "It's pretty worn out, at least 2 years old. A nerd like you has got to have all this memorized. You probably just use it as a security blanket."

    Parker crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. "That's not an answer. I asked why can't I have it."

    "It's kinda obvious why I can't allow you to have this." Parker just arched his eyebrow at that. Wade released an exaggerated sigh.

    "This little book right here." Wade waved it in the air and made his voice as serious as possible. Parker's eyes tracked the book. "This is exactly what Hydra wants. And you may think that no one but you can read this but trust me. Your shorthand may be unique and your handwriting is crap but it's not completely incomprehensible."

    Parker scoffed. "Tony Stark couldn't read that. I doubt anyone in Hydra could crack it."

    "Well maybe you have to be the right type of crazy to be able to read this, but baby, I am all types of crazy." Wade flipped to a random page and cleared his throat. "For example. This page has a list of compounds that make up a chemical that could potentially be very helpful or very destructive. But you haven't started the experiment yet. You have a mark right here at the end that's a little empty circle. That was easy to figure out. An empty circle for planned experiments, a half filled circle for ongoing and a filled circle for complete."

    Wade glanced up to see the intern's reaction and was slightly surprised by what he saw. Parker's face was turning an alarming shade of red and his mouth was doing a frankly fantastic impression of a fish. His eyes were wide behind his outdated (but still adorable) glasses, and his fingers were sort of… Twitching. Like he wanted to grab hold of Wade and maybe smack him.

    {Uh oh. I think you pissed Pretty Parker off.}

    [Um. I'm not entirely sure that is the face of someone pissed off.]

    "Y-you figured that out? _You_? How?" Parker managed to gasp out.

    "Yeah. Well." Wade rubbed a gloved hand over his head and shrugged. He was hardly insulted by the incredulous tone the intern had used – he _was_ fucking crazy. "I don't have the whole thing decoded but I was able to pick up a few patterns. It's mostly just lists of stuff you check off but there are some notes that could really fuck some shit up if someone else managed to read it."

    {I think the kid is dying. Do something! He's too adorable to die!}

    [Oh, this is gold. Do either of you realized what's going on?]

    "Noooo? What's wrong with him?" Wade reached out to the intern who was still red and blinking rapidly. "Hey, are you dying?"

    Parker jerked away and spun around on his heel. "No! I'm fine. Just fine. I gotta get back to work. You can keep the damn book." He limped across the room and put a table in between him and the merc.

    "Um. What was that about?" Wade mumbled to himself. White began laughing hysterically.

    {I am officially freaking out. He never laughs like that. Make him stop, big guy!}

    [You two are not going to believe this. It's been awhile since we've seen something like that face to face but that little nerd (who is obviously Spider-man) _is_ turned on. Extremely aroused.]

    "No," Wade gasped loudly. The intern had his back to him but couldn't conceal a slight jump he made at the sound. "There is no fucking way."

    [When am I ever wrong? I'm right about him being Spider-man and I'm right about him popping a boner.]

    {We still haven't seen his ass! I think you're wrong about both!}

    [You're just being contrary.]

    Wade clapped his hands loudly and rubbed them together. The intern jumped again like he did a minute ago and the day before.

    [He's jumpy. Like a spider.]

    {Lots of things are jumpy!}

    "Shut up! I just thought of a way to prove who's right."

    {Gotta plan, big man?}

    "Yep," Wade chirped and began marching across the lab to the intern. "I'm gonna kill two birds with one stone."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, new chapter! Comments are always appreciated!


	3. The Chapter Where Two Can Play That Game and Spider-man Doesn't Appreciate Deadpool's Humour

    Peter watched nervously as Deadpool approached him, wishing the table was a lot sturdier than it was. Or that he could run away without looking like he was running away. What the hell, universe?

    The table was covered in beakers filled with chemicals that he was at least 90% sure weren’t supposed to be there. Not to mention, a serious breach of safety procedures. Peter felt his arousal wither a little at the thought of having to dress down a younger intern. He hated doing that – maybe he’d be able to hand that particular duty to Anderson.

    Although that was hardly the biggest problem right now. The biggest problem was that Deadpool was _still_ coming, and Peter hadn’t moved. He couldn’t. It was like he’d accidentally stuck his feet to the ground, like he used to do back when he was still learning how to use his powers. _And_ he was still blushing.

    Not to mention that in the state he was in, Peter couldn’t exactly fight Deadpool as well as he usually would be able to. His ankle was still healing – he estimated the damage would be completely gone by lunchtime, after which he’d still have to pretend to limp because several other interns had noticed and expressed concern about his injury which was frankly just _adorable_ – and his ribs were still achy and mostly broken. Maybe bruised. Probably bruised.

    So it was with a great amount of trepidation, and a side helping of cringe-worthy interest, that Peter watched Deadpool skip towards him.

    Deadpool stopped way, way too close. Peter felt his cheeks heating up, his body unconsciously responding to the closeness in a terrifyingly positive way. Peter had to lock all his muscles to stop the shiver that wanted to run up his spine.

    He leaned closer, and Peter’s brain short circuited. Deadpool was going to kiss him.

    _Hell yes_.

    Peter’s eyes snapped closed, but he didn’t let himself move. He was very much expecting to feel the texture of Deadpool’s mask against his lips – or maybe he’d feel actual lips against his own. He felt his stomach shiver at the thought.

    His eyes snapped back open when he felt something cold and wet drip onto his hand. Peter glanced down, jaw dropping in surprise when he saw the liquid drenching the entire left side of his lab coat. His eyes flicked immediately to the beaker in Deadpool’s hand, relief flooding through him.

    Out of all the chemicals on the bench Deadpool could have picked up – and he’d need to have a chat to whoever left them out, because that was a serious violation of several safety procedures (no wait, he was handing that job to Anderson, remember?) – Deadpool had somehow managed to pick up the _only_ one that wouldn’t have caused him harm.

    If he had the brain power right then, Peter would wonder at that – only _some_ of the beakers were labelled clearly. The rest had Peter’s shorthand because he’d gotten lazy. Bad Peter.

    But Peter’s brain was a little fried from the rush of _serious_ lust he was _still_ feeling for the red and black clad mercenary – which, what even? – not to mention the way his heart was sinking – again, what even? Was he really that desperate to be kissed? – to really process that.

    So when Deadpool spilled the chemical on his lab coat and started screeching at him to take it off, the lab coat was pooling on the floor around Peter’s feet before he’d even realized he had moved. Peter blinked down at it stupidly for a moment, before slowly bringing his gaze back up to stare at Deadpool.

    The mercenary was positively bouncing. “It worked! Hey, hey, it totally worked!”

    Peter swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “What worked?” If Deadpool had been playing with him…

    “No, I can’t tell _you_.” Deadpool waved a finger in his face, so close that to see it Peter had to go cross eyed. “Now, turn around.”

    Peter started to move, but one look at the mercenary’s smug mask and he stopped. “No,” he replied, crossing his arms across his chest and wincing a little because yes, those ribs were _still_ broken. Bruised. Whatever.

    Deadpool cocked his head. “Aw, why not? I promise I’m not gonna do anything bad!”

    “What _are_ you going to do?” Behind his glasses, Peter’s eyes were narrowed suspiciously.

    “If you turn around, I’m going to stare at your ass,” Deadpool replied easily with a sunny grin.

    Peter’s face started to stain red again. He was twenty years old, why the heck was he still blushing like a pre-pubescent girl with a crush? He shifted awkwardly, unsure how to respond.

    “I’m not turning around,” Peter said finally. “And I think you’ve made enough of a mess in here. You can leave now.”

    “What? No way!” Deadpool pouted. “C’mon, just a little spin?”

    Peter took a step back. “No. Please leave.”

    “Shut up,” Deadpool said. “It was a great plan… Yeah, whatever! You couldn’t come up with better! No you… Okay, now for reals, shut up.”

    Peter didn’t bite his lip fast enough to stop the re-occurring question from surfacing yet again. “ _Who_ are you talking to?” The frustration in his voice was tangible.

    Deadpool whirled around, the smug grin on his masked face sending a jolt through Peter. “I’ll tell you if you turn around and let me stare at your ass.”

    There was _no way_ Deadpool had _planned_ that… Right? Peter swallowed with a suddenly dry throat. If the mercenary _had_ planned it, there was no way Peter was going down without a fight. “You’ll tell me and give me back my cheats,” Peter replied.

    The smug look faltered for a moment. “Now see here, that’s not how things are done,” Deadpool said, sounding put out.

    “You mean things didn’t go according to your _plan_?” Peter snapped back. “Newsflash, Deadpool: People don’t always act or react the way you think they’re going to.” He folded his arms, tilting his chin up. “Now get out of the lab,” he finished.

    Deadpool remained silent for a moment. “Anyone ever tell you you’re pretty sexy when you’re angry? Because _damn_ , if I wasn’t already spoken for, I’d go down on one knee.”

    Peter’s indignant rage vanished. “You have a wi – partner?” he asked, correcting himself at the last second because he _really_ didn’t need to be corrected by Deadpool. It wouldn’t help the current situation in his pants.

    “My heart is already spoken for,” the mercenary said dramatically. “Spidey and I… We’re a forever thing, baby!”

    Peter just about choked on his tongue. “You and _Spider-man_?” he repeated, incredulous.

    Deadpool nodded. “Just you wait, Intern! I’ll land myself that hunk in red and blue spandex yet!” He shook his fist at the ceiling with a war-like cry.

    _Someone save me,_ Peter thought. “Does he know?”

    “Does who know what now?”

    The idiotic response was like a bucket of cold water. Peter silently thanked whichever god was listening – unless it was Loki.

    “I mean, does Spider-man know you like him?” Peter elaborated.

    “He does now,” Deadpool muttered to himself. “I thought I was pretty clear? What, you think I should leave the guy flowers? Ooh, does Spidey like flowers?”

    Peter only just stopped himself from shaking his head furiously. “I wouldn’t know,” he replied. “Maybe you should ask him?”

    “That’s a great idea!” Deadpool exclaimed, jumping into the air. “I’m gonna go find him and ask him!”

    “…Right now?” Peter asked, glancing out the window.

    “Right now!”

    Peter gave a mental shrug and offered the mercenary a smile. “Good luck, then,” he said. Deadpool grinned and waved before vanishing out the door. Peter heaved a sigh.

    Now to analyse his own feelings. Yay.

 

* * *

 

    On one hand, Deadpool was obviously smarter than people gave him credit for. And Peter felt a little bad for that, but he reasoned that there really hadn’t been much evidence to the contrary. But the fact that the mercenary had taken _a night_ to figure out even the most basic of symbols – especially since Tony had had it for almost a week and made no progress – was enough to make heat pool in his gut.

    How smart was the mercenary _really_? How brilliant was his mind, hidden in jokes and the crazy flair that was just _Deadpool_? There were so many things Peter needed to analyse.

    On the other hand, it was _Deadpool_. Never mind his apparent brilliance – the guy was a mercenary. He killed people on a weekly – if not daily – basis, was overly fond of things that went _boom_ and generally seemed to enjoy making a mess of things. Not only that, but the few times Peter and the Avengers had teamed up with Deadpool, the mercenary had _somehow_ managed to make things worse.

    So on one hand, yes, Deadpool was smart enough to rev Peter’s motor, so to speak. But Peter would be quite content to _never_ have the mercenary find out about his little – dare he say it – _crush_ , because he was absolutely adamant that _nothing_ would come of it.

    _Nothing_.

 

* * *

 

     “Spidey!” Deadpool called, scrambling up onto the roof. For a moment, Peter fantasised about simply swinging away, but… Well that was hardly polite, was it?

    “Hello Deadpool,” Peter sighed.

    “Hey Spidey, I have a super important question for you,” the other man sang, skipping over.

    Peter cocked an eyebrow (not that Deadpool could see). “What’s up?”

    “Do you know a cute little nerd named Parker?” Deadpool asked. Peter felt every single one of his previously relaxed muscles tense and _prayed_ he wasn’t being too obvious about it. “Because I think he’s trying to steal me away from you.”

    “That wouldn’t be very hard,” Peter replied, “since you don’t belong to me.”

    Deadpool pouted. “But Spidey, I thought the love we had was _real_!”

    “I don’t love you, Deadpool.”

    “It’s hidden, but I know it’s there! So, do you know Parker?”

    “… Yes.”

    The grin was evident under the mask as Deadpool bounced closer. “Does Parker have a first name?”

    Peter wanted to tear out his hair, but the mask was in the way. “Of course he has a first name. And I’m sure _you_ could easily find out what that name is.”

    Deadpool waved a hand. “Of course I could, but I wanted to ask you.”

    Peter heard the unspoken _to see if you’d tell me_ and only barely resisted the urge to just… Run away. “That’s private information, Deadpool.”

    “Please,” the other man scoffed. “It’s not like I’m asking for his address.”

    “Are you trying to tell me that if you find out his full name you’re _not_ going to be able to find out where he lives?” Peter demanded, folding his arms. The mercenary grinned innocently. “I’ve heard you need less than a name, Deadpool, to find your target. Which is _impressive_ , I’ll admit.”

    “I think that’s the first time he’s complimented me,” Deadpool whispered to himself.

    Peter resolved to get his hands on a file that explained what all _that_ was about ASAP. “So I’m not going to tell you his first name. In fact, I think you already know.”

    There. The challenge was thrown. Time to see how the infamous Deadpool would react. Peter hoped he’d be able to get away if things went south…

 

* * *

* * *

  

    ... _Alright. He wants to play it that way then let's play._

    {Ohhhh. He done fucked up now.}

    Wade stepped into the hero's space and mimicked his crossed arms, squared shoulders, and braced legs pose. The smaller man didn't back down, he just stared defiantly behind his white lenses.

    [That right there is another clue that Parker is Spider-man. He didn't back down earlier either. A normal person would have.]

    {Shut it, Whitey. The big guy is fixing to show off our mad skills.}

    [Tread carefully. We don't want to give up this game just yet.]

    Wade resisted the urge to shake his head to clear the boxes chatter away from his thoughts. He focused on making his voice serious and steady before speaking. "You're right, Spidey. I _do_ know his first name. See, I was gonna play fair and wait until the information came willingly, but I'm a little too impatient."

    Wade tilted his head and hummed as he organized his chaotic thoughts.

    "I don't think you want to know everything I've already found out about him - where's the fun in that, amirite? -  so I'm just gonna give you the highlights."

    Wade leaned in closer and watched Spider-man's shoulders tense impossibly further.

    "Peter Parker is a twenty year old intern for Tony Stark and Bruce Banner." Wade eagerly noted the slight flinch Spider-man gave when he started. White radiated smugness in the back of his mind as Wade continued. "He is enrolled at Empire State University where he studies science, double majoring in Bio-chemistry and Genetics. He used to be a freelance photographer for the Daily Bugle and mainly aimed his camera at _you_. He recently moved out of his aunt's house - no, I don't know the address so don't spazz - and he's single even though he is besties with a _smokin'_ redheaded hottie."

    Wade narrowed his eyes before continuing in a lower voice.

    "So who is Peter Parker to you, huh? Did you two get close while you were his personal model? How did you meet? Does he know who you are? Those are the questions I would really like to know the answers to."

    Wade had leaned in more while he had been talking and now their faces were a few measly inches apart. Spider-man was breathing heavily - Wade could almost imagine the little puffs of air against his mask - and there were faint tremors racking his lithe body.

    [See that? That's what I was talking about before. That is not the reaction of an angry arachnid.]

    {I kinda want to agree. He does seem more turned on than pissed off.}

    "That's almost too good to be true," Wade murmured softly to himself. Spider-man didn't repeat his usual annoyed inquiry about who Wade was talking to. The hero seemed to be completely shocked and Wade took the chance to study his body language. The merc backed off after a few more tense and silent seconds.

    Wade let his arms drop and relaxed the rest of his body. "Peter Parker is kinda fascinating, isn't he? I think I'm gonna be seeing _a lot_ more of Petey."

    That seemed to snap Spider-man out of his frozen funk. He angrily shoved his finger in Wade's face and growled, "You stay _away_ from Peter, Deadpool. Your job at Stark Tower is to keep an eye out for trouble, not spy on interns. I don't know how you knew all that but that's all you're ever going to know. Peter wants _nothing_ to do with you."

    "I wouldn't be too sure on that. I mean, I got some mixed signals, but mixed signals are better than no signals. I'm pretty sure he's into me."

    Spider-man pressed the heels of his hands into his covered eyes and hissed. "I'm so _freaking_ serious about this, Deadpool. I will web you into a cocoon and let the Avengers use you as a piñata."

    "That sounds like fun but candy isn't gonna come out of me. I think they would be disappointed."

    "I don't think they would care. You're underestimating how much they dislike you."

    Wade ignored the small stab of hurt at that and shrugged. "I think you're overestimating your powers if you think you can stop me with some webs, Web-head."

    This time it was Spider-man that got in Wade's space as he growled again, "Stay away from Peter and maybe we won't ever have to find out."

    "Aw come on, baby. I don't wanna fight with you. Our love is too strong to let another man come between us." Wade made kissing noises, causing the hero to jerk back.

    "That's not wha-", Spider-man threw his arms up and yelled, "Oh my God! You make me so angry, Deadpool. Forget the healing factor. Getting on my nerves is your true superpower."

    "Whoop whoop. Let's add that to the long list of my amazing assets. We can put it right after the size of my di-"

    "That's it. I'm done."

    The vigilante gave one last glare (at least, that's what Wade assumed he was doing) before he spun on his heel and stalked to the edge on the roof. A memory flashed in Wade's head and he couldn't resist a parting jab.

    "Oh, Spidey-babe! I got just _one_ more question." Wade grinned when Spider-man actually paused with an arm outstretched, ready to sling a web out.

    Spidey didn't bother looking back as he replied coldly, "If it's about Peter then you can just forget it."

    "Wow, you can make your voice really icy. It's ironically hot. Anyway, no. It totally has nothing to do with Petey. It's a _completely_ innocent question."

    Wade waited for Spider-man's impatient sigh before asking, "How do you feel about flowers? I kinda feel like they're a little forward? Like 'hey, I'm really into you, here's the sexual organs of some plants'. You see what I mean?"

    Spider-man groaned loudly in frustration and tossed himself off the building. Wade watched him swing towards the rougher parts of the city, and grinned when he imagined the hero taking his anger out on some purse snatchers and other various lowlifes.

    "Well guys." Wade addressed his boxes who had been surprisingly quiet through most of the exchange. "I think that went well."

    White made a noise of agreement. [If by well you mean we managed to get through that without getting kicked in an important part of our anatomy then yeah.]

    {We made Spidey _feel_ things.}

    "Anger is a strong emotion. I can work with that."

    [So you two believe that Peter Parker is Spider-man, right?]

    {I still wanna see Pretty Petey's booty under that stupid nerd coat to be sure.}

    [You're an idiot...But yeah. I want to see it too. I want to know if it's as good outside of spandex as it is _in_ spandex.]

    Wade giggled and rubbed his hands together evilly. "If this is going were I think it's going then we are gonna see that ass in nothing at all."

    {We're gonna seduce Spidey/Petey? Yay!}

    [This is either going to go really well or really, _really_ badly...]

    "You're the one that keeps pointing out how I affect him. Where's your faith, Whitey?"

    [Did I ever have any?]

    {Nope! But I believe in ya, big guy. Let's go get laid!}

    "Patience, my young Padawan. All in good time."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took us so long, I think we've both been very busy and that left us with little time to write! That being said, better late than never, right?
> 
> (*tiny voice* Right...?)
> 
> Hope you enjoy!


	4. The Chapter Where Peter Really Can't Act To Save His Life (Or His Secret Identity)

    Mixed signals. _Mixed_ signals?

    Peter was _so_ screwed. He breathed out a heavy sigh, staring at his boring ceiling as he lay on his back. He could feel the blood dripping down his fingers, onto the floor, staining the sheets underneath him. He could feel the less severe wounds from his fight with Venom itching as they healed.

    The bigger ones, though. He needed to wrap those up. He wasn’t in danger of bleeding out, but the wounds were still pretty big. It would take him a few days to heal up.

    _Mixed_ signals?

    Peter sighed again. He couldn’t be bothered moving. He was too sore, too tired.

    “How was I giving him mixed signals?” he demanded, voice little more than a whisper. “I do _not_ like Deadpool.”

    _You’ve never bothered to get to know him_ , a little voice in his head pointed out. _How can you know you don’t like him?_

    “He kills people for a living. It’s the _exact_ opposite of what I do.”

    _It’s not like you haven’t killed anyone before._

    Peter winced. “Uncalled for,” he muttered. “But true.” He pushed himself into a sitting position. “I suppose he also has conversations with himself, too.”

    _And he’s smarter than you’ve given him credit for. How short-sighted of you._

    Peter grumbled, pulling his mask off and shaking his head. “Should I have questioned the words of people who have known him a lot longer than I have?”

    _You shouldn’t have been presumptuous._

    Peter tipped his head back to look at the ceiling again. “I just can’t win. Why can’t I win?”

    _Because you’re arguing with yourself._

    “Okay,” Peter said decisively. He slowly rose to his feet, hissing when the wound on his back sent a fresh wave of pain through his body. “Time to call Tony and let him know I won’t be in tomorrow. And then I’ll tend to this wound. And _then_ … Well, I guess I should start working out how I’m going to ‘get to know’ Deadpool.”

 

* * *

 

    The following morning was spent in different parts of his apartment. Peter started off (as one would expect) in the bedroom, on the bed. He’d had to sleep on his stomach to avoid aggravating the wound on his back. He’d woken up with his pillow soaked in drool and the expected morning wood.

    He’d fallen asleep thinking about Deadpool, and while he didn’t remember his dreams, he was resigned to the fact that the mercenary had probably starred in them.

    After he’d taken care of his ‘problem’ and checked the wound on his back, he’d trudged out into the kitchen, where he’d made himself a simple breakfast. As the day wore on, Peter shifted from the kitchen table to the couch, and that was where he was when Deadpool decided to drop in.

    Peter was mostly oblivious to anything except the TV. Wrapped in a blanket and wearing only a pair of sleeping pants underneath, Peter watched the photography documentary – one he’d been meaning to watch for a long time, but just hadn’t had the time – avidly.

    The sound of his window creaking open had him on his feet in a second, heart racing in his chest. He didn’t have his web shooters on, and probably looked completely unthreatening.

    “How do, baby boy?”

    Peter blinked, mouth falling open. “ _Deadpool_?” he demanded.

    The mercenary slipped in through the window Peter usually used as Spider-man, landing with hardly a sound. “It is I, the Frenchiest fry!” he exclaimed. “Nice place.”

    “What are you doing _here_?”

    Internally Peter was, of course, panicking. The blanket around his shoulders was thin, too thin for his liking. The wound on his back was still sore, and hurt too much to pretend he didn’t have it. The fact that Deadpool had figured out where he lived wasn’t actually that much of a surprise – Peter had the distinct feeling he’d found people on less than a name.

    Deadpool was poking around the draws in the kitchen. “Well, you know, Hydra is still out there,” he said. Peter hesitantly walked over, his eyes never leaving the black and red figure in his apartment. “And it’ll be _you_ they’re after next, since they still think you have your little book. So when you didn’t show up today, I thought I’d come and make sure you’re still alive.”

    Peter noticed Deadpool was playing with his kitchen knives and swallowed. “I – that was nice of you? But you could have used the front door, instead of scaring me half to death with that stunt with the window!”

    Deadpool grinned, dropping the knives carelessly back into their place. “I’m Deadpool,” he replied. “Doors are _way_ too mainstream. I’ll bet Spidey never uses doors.”

    Peter narrowed his eyes. “You’re not just here to check up on me, are you?”

    “Someone’s quick! I _was_ legitimately concerned for your safety, Petey, but there was another reason to my visit.” The mercenary frowned. “I don’t think Spidey likes flowers.”

    “Huh?”

    “Well, I asked him yesterday, and he sort of just ran away. Very rude.”

    Peter raised an eyebrow. “It wouldn’t have anything to do with _how_ you asked, would it? Or the conversation leading up to the question?”

    The white eyes of Deadpool’s mask widened. “You think _I_ was the problem? That’s mean Petey! Why are you blaming me?”

    “I’m not _blaming_. I’m _asking_. Did you ask nicely, or were you being your usual self?”

    “What’s wrong with my usual self?” Deadpool exclaimed. “I thought you liked me!”

    Peter’s brow furrowed. “What made you think that? Not that I dislike you, of course,” he added hastily, “but what gave you the impression I liked you?”

    Deadpool cocked his head. “Well, you haven’t exactly kicked me out yet. Usually people do that when they _don’t_ like me.”

    “I don’t appreciate you coming in through the window,” Peter said, nodding at the still opened window. He frowned and wandered over to close it.

    When he turned back around, Deadpool was _right there_. In his face. Peter stumbled back a step, fingers automatically tightening around the blanket when his back hit the wall. He barely held in his noise of pain.

    “But you don’t actually mind that I’m here?”

    Peter considered that. “No,” he said decisively. “I don’t.”

    “Can I ask why?”

    “You just did.”

    Deadpool’s mouth turned up in a grin. “Are you gonna answer, Petey-pie, or do I have to ask again?”

    “Well,” Peter said. “I’m starting to think I was in the wrong.”

    The grin disappeared. “In the wrong?” Deadpool repeated. “How?”

    “I automatically believed everything people told me about you,” he replied. “They obviously forgot to mention a few things.”

    “Like?” Deadpool’s entire posture had turned defensive – instead of leaning _in_ to Peter, he was leaning _away_ , like he was expecting a blow. Peter had a second to wonder at that before Deadpool repeated, “ _Like_?”

    “Like the fact that you’re not just a cold-blooded killer,” Peter said. “You care.”

    “You think I care about you?” Deadpool asked.

    “No,” Peter said. “You care about your katanas. You care about money. Have you let yourself care for anyone since,” Peter paused to gesture to the red and black suit, the weapons scattered all over Deadpool’s body, “this?”

    The mercenary was eerily silent, and Peter waited a beat before continuing, aware he was probably treading on dangerous ground.

    “I don’t think you care about me. Not _really_. And if you do, it’s because you’re being paid to protect Stark Industries and its assets. _I_ am an asset. The way you’ve painted it, Hydra has two options – they can come for me, or they can come for the book. How many people know you have my book?”

    “A select few,” Deadpool replied, voice flat.

    “So if Hydra come for me, I can tell them I don’t have the book. You’ll have successfully shifted the focus from me to you, if they _do_ end up coming for me. And if they don’t, you’ll be able to figure out how far Hydra reaches into Stark Industries. You’ve _planned_ this.”

    It had taken Peter quite a lot of tossing and turning to realize exactly how well the mercenary had managed to back Hydra into a corner. The other man’s smarts weren’t used in a showy way – he was subtle, and in being subtle, absolutely _lethal_. Honestly, no wonder he’d missed it.

    “Exactly _how_ smart are you?” Peter asked. He held up a hand when Deadpool started to answer. “No, shush. I’m going to figure it out with _out_ your input. Or anyone else’s.” Peter frowned. “You don’t care about people,” he said slowly. “But you care about what they think of you.”

    A shiver up his spine, spider senses tingling a warning. Peter glanced back at Deadpool, who was back to impersonating a statue. “Why do you let them think you’re an idiot if you care about what they think of you?” he asked softly.

 

* * *

* * *

  

    Wade almost missed the softly spoken words because of the cacophony going on in his head. His boxes were both twisting and snarling behind his eyes, causing an instantaneous migraine.

    [Punch that little fuck in the fucking face.]

    {Knock him out and draw a dick on his forehead. Then we can bail.}

    [I don't give a shit if he is Spider-man. _No one_ can talk to us like that. Teach him how to keep his goddamn mouth shut.]

    {I don't wanna _really_ hurt Spidey. Maybe a few slices with Bea and Arthur will do? I just wanna leave. This convo is _waaay_ too serious.}

    [He thinks he knows some shit about us. And he wants to _figure us out_? The first thing he should learn is the taste of a bullet.]

    {Let's go on vacation. Fuck Stark, fuck Hydra, fuck the Avengers, and fuck Spidey. We don't need their bullshit.}

    [Fight him, you idiot!]

    {Jump out the window, big guy!}

_Fight or flight?_

    Wade took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Then he used every bit of his mental strength to slam his two boxes closed. It was only a temporary fix - a half hour if he was lucky - but the sudden silence made his choices clear. He didn't have to just pick fight or flight. He could chose, "Neither."

    Peter raised an eyebrow at that and some of the tension in his body seeped out. "I'm pretty sure neither is not an answer that makes sense to my question."

    "But you actually sound relieved." Wade crossed his arms and squinted down at Peter. "You keep asking me questions that you don't really want me to answer, don't you? Or you're afraid of what might happen if I did."

    "I'm _not_ afraid," Peter stubbornly replied as he pulled his blanket even tighter across his shoulders. He winced when the fabric undoubtedly pressed against his injury. Wade reached out like he was going to run a hand over the blanket but Peter angled his body away until half of his back was on the wall again.

    "Chill. I'm not going to touch ya." Wade pulled his hand back and placed it on his hip. He made his face and voice stern before asking, "How did you hurt yourself?"

    "What?" Peter's eyes widened. He started looking over Wade's shoulder like he was planning an escape.

    "You heard me."

    "Um... Skateboarding accident."

    "Oh yeah? That happen often?"

    "All the time."

    "You must suck then."

    "Even the best skaters wipeout."

    "The only skater I know is Tony Hawk so I'm gonna have to take your word for it."

    The duo stared each other down for a few silent and tense seconds. Wade broke the stillness by rolling his eyes behind his mask and making a 'turn around' gesture.

    "Let me look at your back."

    " _Why?_ "

    "You said it yourself. I only care about what happens to you because you're Stark's asset. I told him I would watch out for his property and you are ' _his intern'_."

    "I'm not his property."

    "Yeah, well, tell that to Iron Dick." Wade tried to make his figure less intimidating and pressed his palms together in a pleading gesture. "Just let me look, _please_."

    "...Fine," Peter sighed in defeat. He turned around and lowered the blanket until it was resting low on his hips. Wade soaked in the sight of strong but slight shoulders and lithe back muscles before focusing on the wound right between his shoulder blades. It was crudely bandaged - gauze bunched up over crooked tape - with flecks of dried blood around its edges. He even had blood caked on the back of his arm and in the crease of his elbow like it had dripped down his fingers.

    Wade snorted with a shake of his head. "You did a sucky ass job doctoring yourself, baby boy. I'm gonna have to re-bandage it."

    {Did someone say ass?}

    [Annnd we're back.]

    "Are you fucking serious?" Wade interrupted Peter's rant about how he did a ‘perfectly fine job, thank you very much and you are definitely _not_ touching me' and threw his hands up in frustration. "It hasn't even been five minutes."

    "What?" Peter glanced over his shoulder in confusion. "You've been here longer than five minutes. Are you talking to yourself again?"

    Wade ignored Peter's question and his boxes - who were asking if they missed anything - and looked around the hero's tiny apartment. "Where's your first-aid kit and wash clothes?"

    "Oh no. You are not gon-"

    "Alright. I'll just go looking through your bathroom." Wade spun around and headed for the nearest door, but Peter grabbed his arm before he could get very far.

    "No! Nonono." Peter jerked away when Wade looked at the hand wrapped around his bicep. Peter pulled the blanket back over his shoulders and wrapped it around his torso. "I'll get it. Just stay here."

    "Yeah yeah. I won't snoop," Wade grumbled as he watched the hero walk away. He didn't leave the spot by the window as he studied the small living area. The only furniture was a couch, coffee table, entertainment centre, and a TV. The room was also connected to the kitchen where the entrance was. Wade snorted in humour at the skateboard propped by the door next to a pair of worn out Vans. Everything was neat, except for a few scattered papers, books, candy wrappers, and discarded articles of clothing.

    [This apartment just _screams_ poor college student.]

    {It's boring. There's no posters of naked chicks on motorcycles or lava lamps or neon beer logos.}

    [Not all college students are frat boys.]

    {The cool ones are.}

    [Obviously this Parker kid is not 'cool'. He's a nerd. Look at the documentary he's watching.]

    {Spider-man is cool! Petey should be too!}

    [Not everyone is the same in and out of their super suits.]

    {Ha. I just thought of The Incredibles. Let's watch Disney movies when we get home.}

    [We are not leaving until this idiot makes Parker bleed. I'm still pissed about his attitude towards us.]

    "Here's my kit and a clean rag," Peter interrupted the boxes' ramblings and shoved the supplies into Wade's arms. "I'm guessing you won't leave me alone until after you've checked my back out, right?"

    Wade smirked down at the hero who looked resigned to his fate. "Yep. I'll leave after I've taken care of Starky's assets, Scout's honor. Now go sit your cute _asset_ on the couch."

    "I'm gonna bet that you were never a boy scout," Peter snorted, but he obligingly began wobbling to the couch with his blanket trailing behind him. Wade followed and placed the supplies on the coffee table as Peter settled sideways on the couch.

    "You really _really_ don't need to do this," Peter sighed as he crossed his legs in front of him. "I'd would rather you didn't, in fact."

    "Too bad, so sad. You'll just have to sit back and enjoy having my hands on you," Wade giggled. The mercenary pulled the coffee table closer to the couch and sat behind the hero.

    {I'm going to enjoy you having our hands on him. Mmmm.}

    [I'm not. Unless it leaves bruises.]

    {Oooh. Hickeys! Those are the _best_ bruises!}

    [I am so fucking done with your one track mind. Just shut up.]

    "You are _only_ gonna touch me as much as you have to and then you are leaving," Peter ordered while the boxes bickered in the background. He completely removed the blanket and tossed it over the arm of their seat, and then rolled his shoulders and shifted around until he was comfortable. "Let's get this over with."

    "So bossy. I like it," Wade quipped. He began gently peeling the tape away from the hero's back, rolling the soiled gauze as he went. The bandage was almost soaked through with blood and Wade tsked at the sight. He tossed the garbage on the table and then focused on studying the wound.

    The injury was long and luckily shallow, obviously made by someone or something with claws. Wade ran through a mental checklist of Spider-man's rogue's gallery and narrowed it down to one of the symbiote villains, likely Venom or Carnage. Maybe Lizard, though Wade was sure he wasn't going to crawl out of the sewers so soon after his last beating…

    He grabbed a cloth that he wet with a small bottle of peroxide from the kit, and began wiping the dried blood from the back of the hero's arm. Peter flinched from the touch with a startled gasp. "That's cold! Why are you rubbing my arm?"

    "Because you obviously don't know how to clean yourself properly," Wade huffed and continued to clean the hero's skin. "Dried blood is itchy. How did you not notice it?"

    "I got use to the itchiness," Peter shrugged under Wade's hands. "And I was tired. Wipeouts make you feel wiped out, let me tell ya."

    "Sure. Whatever you say," Wade chuckled.

    [I wonder how many dumb excuses this kid is going to come up with before he figures out that we know already.]

    {Spidey is so cute. What were we mad at him about again?}

    [Well, for one, his fucki-]

    "How about we not get into that again, kay?" Wade mumbled.

    "I've lost count of how many times I've asked but I'm going to do it again. Who are you talking to?"

    "Your mom. Now shush." Wade then unceremoniously dumped the rest of the peroxide over the claw mark. Peter hissed and squirmed a bit but didn't speak again. The mercenary finished wiping up the peroxide and traded the now brown cloth for a cotton swab and tube of ointment. He applied the medicine to the edges of the claw mark - careful not to touch the area with his gloves - and checked for signs of infection as he went. When Wade was satisfied that the injury was clean and clear, he began unravelling a roll of gauze.

    "Why do you even know how to clean and dress a wound?" Peter broke the almost serene silence and turned his head to try and peek over his shoulder. "You heal from everything."

    "Not always, remember?" Wade responded as he snipped the dressing into an appropriate length with tiny scissors that he had difficulty holding. "I had to learn when I was but a wee lad in Canada."

    "I can't even imagine you as a kid." Peter shook his head. "Manchild, yes. Kid, no."

    "Can you imagine me as a soldier? That's were I really had to learn to patch myself up."

    Peter hummed and tilted his head in acknowledgement. "I did read that you were Special Forces before...whatever happened to you, but yeah, it's really hard to imagine you following orders."

    "Following? Hell, I gave orders. Most of the time anyway."

    "It said you were dishonourably discharged," Peter scoffed.

    "That's because it _is_ hard for me to follow orders. Unless it's orders in the bedroom." Wade waggled his brow even though the hero was staring forward. He taped the fresh dressing over the claw marks and then leaned back to admired his work.

    [He's almost as covered in scars as we are.]

    {Kinda emo. Or kinky.}

    Wade was confused for a second before he noticed the blemishes littered the expanse of pale skin. There were many scars of various sizes that ranged in colour from a silvery white to a delicate pink. Wade thought, with a tiny amount of jealousy, that all those scars would probably fade to nothingness over time unlike his own.

    "You've had a lot of skateboarding accidents, haven't you, Peter?" Wade asked softly and lightly traced a small scar on the hero's lower back. He stiffened under Wade's touch.

    "You said my name," Peter choked out. He twisted around until he was fully facing Wade on the couch and began stuttering, "Uh-how or ah, should I ask _when_ did you-"

    "I called you Petey early and you're just now noticing? Weak."

    [He's already getting what he knows as Spider-man and what he knows as Peter mixed up. He should have responded in surprise earlier.]

    {Oh! I see! He's not supposed to know that we already know his name is Peter.}

    [He is a horrible actor.]

    {He's soooo _adorable_ when he's flustered.}

    Wade raised an opened palm and closed it in Peter's face to stop his attempts of acting surprised. "Calm down. I figured out your name forever ago. Easy as Petey-pie."

    "Um. Right." Peter rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. "Nothing I can do about it now, I guess."

    "Not like you could have prevented it anyway, sweetums." Wade jumped up from the couch and brushed his hands against his suit. "My job is done here. I'll wear my nurse outfit next time."

    "There won't be a next time," Peter said firmly, but he was blushing. He stood up and began packing the first-aid supplies back in the kit to avoid eye contact with the mercenary. "But thanks, Wa-Deadpool. This bandage does feel better and you were um, surprisingly gentle."

    "I have magic phalanges," Wade said as he wiggled his fingers. "I'll give you a massage one day. I know _every_ pressure point in the human body."

    Peter vigorously shook his head. "Yeah. _No_. Hard pass on that."

    {Ahh. No sexy massage?}

    [Do you know the song You Can't Always Get What You Want?]

    {Nope. How does it go?}

    [...Never mind.]

    "Your loss," Wade shrugged. He reached over and into Peter's space to grab the blanket from the couch. He slung it over the smaller man's shoulders and then gave them a firm pat. "I'm gonna head back to the monument of Stark's ego. Let me know if Hydra breaks in and starts torturing you for the book."

    "I really hope that doesn't happen but it would mean Hydra isn't in deep." Peter followed Wade when the mercenary walked back to the window. "Wait. How am I supposed to let you know?"

    "I already put my digits into your cell, sweetie."

    "Wha-when? How?" The hero started patting his hips and Wade laughed at the frustrated noise Peter made when he realized he didn't have pockets in his pyjama pants. "I haven't even used my phone all morning."

    "Like I said, magical fingers." Wade climbed out of the window and onto the fire escape. He stuck his upper body back in to wave a finger in the hero's face. "And I'm serious about keeping an eye out for Hydra. Call if you see anyone hanging around your apartment looking shady, kay?"

    "Do you really think they are gonna come for me?" Peter asked and Wade smirked under his intense scrutiny.

    "Hydra has to make a move eventually, baby boy. Those sons of bitches just don't know when to give up."

    "Sounds like someone else we know, doesn't it?"

    "Oh I _know_ when to give up. It's when I know I'm gonna lose." Wade gave the hero a parting wink and a two fingered salute. "I'll see ya at the Tower of Daddy Issues when you’re healed enough, if not sooner."

    Wade closed the window behind him but it opened a second later. Peter stuck his head out and glared adorably at Wade. The mercenary barely resisted making cooing noises at the squinty eyes and pouty lips.

    "Use the front door next time, Deadpool."

    Wade opened his mouth to respond after a second or two of stunned silence but the window was already firmly shut.

    {Did you hear that! He said _next time_! We actually have permission to enter Spidey's apartment.}

    "Holy shit. So you heard that too?"

    {I'm never gonna unhear it.}

    [...There is _seriously_ something wrong with that kid.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Sorry it took so long - I know I, at least, have been hella busy with RL so fic writing had to take a back seat. But, fear not - you now have this chapter to read and enjoy!
> 
> As always, please leave us some comments, we both live on them ;)


	5. The Chapter Where Peter Remembers To Sass Bad Guys And Gets in Shit For It

    Peter glared at his reflection in the window. “‘ _Next time_ ’?” he hissed at himself. “Well done, Parker. And _skateboarding_? Really? Even half-healed, a scratch from Venom looks _nothing_ like an injury you’d get from skateboarding!”

    Peter threw his hands in the air, ignoring the twinge of pain that crawled across his back in response. He turned away from the window, resolutely _not_ looking out to see if Wade had indeed gone. He returned to his earlier position on the couch and frowned at the TV.

    That had been intense. Also very, very dangerous, if the spider sense still crawling under his skin was anything to go by. He sighed, fingers dancing along the edge of his blanket in a staccato rhythm. The mercenary had been so still, so quiet... And with his spider senses screaming at him, Peter had been very sure he was about to be stabbed.

    But then Wade had gone and _cleaned_ his wound. And again, _skateboarding_? Peter groaned, leaning back to stare at the ceiling. He was supposed to be _smart_ , for crying out loud! He knocked his head against the arm of the couch a few times before he organized his thoughts and moved on.

    The mercenary hadn’t said anything. Which meant he either wasn’t all that great at identifying what caused wounds – unlikely, terribly unlikely – or… Peter frowned.

    He couldn’t, could he? Wade, Deadpool, couldn’t have figured out that he was Spider-man. There was no conceivable way… Right?

    Peter tugged at his hair, eyes narrowed in thought. Sure, there’d been the thing with the flowers… And in the lab, hadn’t Wade wanted to look at his ass? He was always going on about Spider-man’s ass…

    And he hadn’t even asked about the wound on Peter’s back.

    “Fuck,” Peter exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose. None of this was conclusive, of course. And if the mercenary _did_ know, he hadn’t told anyone.

    _Yet_.

    “What to do?” Peter muttered. There had to be a way to find out _exactly_ what Wade knew – or _thought_ he knew – without asking the other man outright and exposing himself. There had to be a way to dissuade Wade – heh – from thinking he was Spider-man. And there had to be a way to get a hold of those damn files, while he was on the topic of getting things done.

    He rolled his shoulders experimentally. He may not have Wade’s healing factor, but his was hardly anything to scoff at. The wound would be mostly healed tomorrow, and he should be fine to go in to work. There were three possible outcomes that Peter could see:

    One – he didn’t run into the mercenary at all. It was pretty unlikely, given how Wade always seemed to pop up at the worst moments, but it wasn’t impossible.

    Two – he _did_ see the mercenary and Wade said nothing about the wound. Which would strongly indicate that yes, Peter’s secret had been compromised.

    Three – he _did_ see the mercenary and Wade broke into song and dance about the wound. The last one was a bit of a swing and a miss, since it could either mean that Wade genuinely had no idea Peter was Spider-man _or_ that Wade knew he was Spider-man but didn’t want to let Peter know he knew.

    Peter heaved a sigh. Why did Wade have to make everything so _complicated_?

 

* * *

  

    “Hey there Petey!” Wade called cheerfully, bouncing into his lab. “Whatcha doing? Looks sciencey!”

    This, this was the reason Peter couldn’t wrap his head around Deadpool. The man acted like a five year old 70% of the time. He could be rude, crass and unspeakably simple about certain things, but the complexity of his character wasn’t something Peter could ignore.

    That childish playfulness hid a razor sharp mind that, if Peter was right, had already figured out he was Spider-man. And damn if that didn’t make the mercenary ridiculously attractive. Peter felt his cheeks flush and turned away from the mercenary.

    “I don’t have time for chit chat,” Peter said. “Please leave – these are very important samples, and I can’t afford to screw up.”

    And that was all very true. After the break-in, security had been so tight that it had taken Peter _days_ to get a message to Tony and Bruce, letting them know what materials he needed. He had done this before the whole Venom debacle and consequent mental meltdown of ‘does he, doesn’t he’ regarding the mercenary standing behind him.

    It had then taken a few more days until the materials he needed arrived. Today, in fact, was the day they had arrived, along with a message from Bruce, letting Peter know he had two weeks to get the labs up and running before it was handed to someone else.

    The note had been written the same day he’d sent Tony and Bruce the message about what he needed. Which left him about a week to re-establish both Lab Seven and Lab Eight. An impossible task, because he’d been absent and without the materials for almost half the time allocated to him – but sending another message to Bruce would take just as long as the first.

    Impossible, but Peter was trying.

    Peter froze in surprise when he felt fingers press against his back, running gently along the length of the scar. There was hardly a scar – like he’d thought, the wound had been healed when he’d woken up. He’d decided against wearing the bandages, because who wouldn’t brush against his back and wonder at the feeling?

    “How’s your back?” Wade asked, voice soft and serious in a way that made Peter’s hands tremble. He was grateful his hands were hidden by the rest of his body – it would be terribly inconvenient if Wade figured out that Peter was _attracted_ to him.

    Then again, who was to say the mercenary hadn’t figured _that_ out too?

    “Fine,” Peter replied eventually. “Thank you for the help, but I’m fine. Now, please leave. You’re distracting, and I have to get this done –”

    “But Petey,” Wade whined, abruptly shifting back to his child-like persona. “You were hurt _real_ bad! You can’t be fine.”

    “You’re hurt?” someone else asked, and Peter whirled around in surprise.

    “Doctor Banner…” Peter glanced at Wade, eyes narrowed. “I’m fine, I swear.”

    “No you’re not,” Wade sang. He was grinning underneath his mask. Peter could tell.

    “I _am_ ,” he said forcefully. “I had a skating accident yesterday, but I’m _fine_.”

    Wade giggled. “Oh so fine,” he whispered to himself. “You shouldn’t be here when you’re healing, Petey,” he continued in a louder voice, shaking his finger at Peter. “Especially not after I wrapped you up.”

    “Peter?” Bruce demanded, and that was his angry voice.

    Peter took a step back, knocking his hip on the bench. “I’m _fine_ ,” he insisted, eyes wide. But he knew – he _knew_ – it wouldn’t be enough.

    And that was how Peter found himself kicked out of the lab, with explicit instructions to _not come in_ for a few days. The re-establishing of the lab would take place when Peter returned to work – Bruce assured him that Tony had (mostly) been joking about how quickly the labs needed to be back up and running. Waiting a few days wouldn’t hurt. Peter found himself grateful that Bruce didn’t insist on looking at the wound himself.

    Peter’s spider sense tingled down his spine as he walked back to his apartment. He ignored it – it was probably Wade, making sure he was _actually_ going home.

    In the end, Peter still wasn’t sure if Wade knew. But he thought it more prudent to act under the assumption that Wade _did_ know he was Spider-man. He pushed open the door to his apartment, thoughts thick and distracting.

    Noise. Movement. The high pitched sound of his spider sense screaming in alarm.

    Peter’s head jerked up, startled, but he was too late to react. The needle pricked into his neck, working almost immediately to unbalance him. He staggered back until he hit a wall, and then his legs skid out from under him.

    He barely registered hitting the floor – he glared at the masked person with lidded eyes, fingers twitching even as he felt himself being dragged deeper towards unconsciousness.

    _I suppose my spider sense really wasn’t reacting to Wade,_ Peter thought muzzily, his eyes closing slowly. _There really_ was _danger._

    His very last thought before everything went dark was, _My day off…_

 

* * *

* * *

  

    {Can we leave _now_?}

    [For the thirty-seventh time: no.]

    "I actually have to watch this damn building, Yellow," Wade groaned. He shifted around in the nest of pillows and blankets he had thrown together until he was more comfortable. He had quickly grown annoyed of how boring the roof had been, and decided that, if he was gonna hang out there for the foreseeable future, then he was gonna be fucking cozy while doing so.

    {Nothing is happening! I wanna see Petey.}

    [Someone has a crush.]

    {No I don't. _You_ have a crush. Shut up, Whitey.}

    [I don't have a crush on any-fucking-body. But I really wouldn't mind having our dick touched by someone. _Anyone_.]

    {We ain't gonna get our dick touched here. That's for sure.}

    "Can you two please stop saying 'dick' and 'touching'?" Wade sighed and tossed his binoculars onto a pillow. He stood, stretched, and then began carelessly kicking his blankets and pillows into a pile under the overhang. The sky over the city looked ominous and Wade didn't want to come back to a soaking wet nest. "I guess we can leave now. All the nerds have left for the day and night security is comin' in."

    {Sweet! Let's go see Petey!}

    Wade skipped over to the fire escape and jumped down. He grabbed the railing and flipped onto the next level. He repeated the move all the way down, enjoying the burn of his muscles working. "Yeah, we'll stop by. Check on our itsy bitsy spider."

    {And then food?}

    "Food first. We can bring the nerd tacos to make up for taking him away from his sciencing." Wade began heading in the direction of Peter's apartment which just _happened_ to be near one of his favourite pseudo-Mexican restaurant. Hooray for coincidences! "Then we can get some of those twinkly lights or paper lanterns to hang up over my spot."

    {That would make it romantic!}

    [What's the point of making it romantic. You've already said we're not going to get our dick touched there.]

    { _We_ can touch our dick there.}

    [That's just sad.]

 

    _One greasy bag of tacos and a headache later..._

 

    Wade stood outside Peter's apartment with all his senses on high alert as he studied the door. It was opened just an inch but that was all he needed to see to know that Peter would be gone. He leaned in close to examine the door jamb and the lock. The jamb had been pulled out a bit, just enough for something flat or a knife to slip through and push the lock back. Peter wouldn't have noticed if they had closed the door behind them.

    {Are we panicking? I don't like panicking.}

    "I'm not panicking. I'm cool as a cucumber dildo."

    [Tell that to your elevated heart rate and erratic breathing pattern.]

    "Okay. _Fine_. I'm freaking out a teeny _tiny_ bit."

    [Just go ahead and let it out so we can focus.]

    "Mother _fucker_!" Wade screamed. He threw the tacos and the contents exploded against the wall next to the door. For a second he debated on whether to look for clues in the apartment or to go ahead and start looking for Peter. The need to move quickly won out and he took off as fast as he could for the exit.

    {Petey! Tacos!}

    [I thought you knew this was going to happen?]

    "Well fucking shit nuggets! I didn't think he would get snatched by Hydra this soon! Or at all. I was betting on Hydra being deeper in and coming for me."

    {Ha! That sounded really dirty! But seriously. If Petey gets hurt I'm gonna fuck the left side of your brain. And I'm talking hate fucking.}

    [That's the crush talking. I don't give a shit if Spider-man gets hurt but we probably won't get paid if something happens to him.]

    "Shut up. _Shut up_ ," Wade growled through his teeth as he burst through the front doors of the apartment building. He quickly scanned the street and zeroed in on a pair of skid marks just to the side of the entrance. He marched towards them and crouched over the marks.

    "They grabbed him and peeled out. That just gives me a direction."

    [You can do better than that, idiot.]

    {Sherlock mode!}

    "Okay. Tire tread. Um. Big fucking van. Over a few hours old. Yeah, that's all I can get from this shit."

    [Look around. Someone must have seen something.]

    "Anyone who saw something would be long gone by now, Whitey! Fuck!"

    {What about across the street?}

    "What about it?" Wade jerked his head up and growled in annoyance, stopping when he spotted what Yellow was talking about a second later. It was a pawn shop with large windows displaying multiple TVs – all streaming live footage of the street. "Oh my God, Yellow. I would kiss you if you weren't a voice in my head."

    {Ewww. You're not my type.}

    Wade sprinted across the road, vaulting over honking cars and ignoring screaming pedestrians. He shoved a couple out of the way when they walked into his path and hit the door of the pawn shop at top speed. A bell dinged when he jerked the door open causing the owner to call out a greeting from behind the counter.

    The man was fiddling with something out of sight with his back turned away from Wade. The mercenary slammed his hand down on the service bell over and over.

    "Shit, dude! I'm right here." The man spun around with an aggravated expression that quickly morphed into panic when a gun was shoved in his face.

    "I don't got time for chatter. Show me your security feed. Now."

    "Wha-what? Why'd you wanna-" Wade pressed the muzzle in between the guys’ eyes until they crossed. "Yeah. O-okay. Right this way."

    Wade kept his gun trained on the man as he rounded the counter and followed him to the back room. Wade pushed the gun between the man's shoulders when he fumbled with his keys.

    "I'm _trying_ , man. F-fuck." He was almost in tears but he managed to open his office. Wade steered the man into his desk chair and moved to his side. He tapped the gun against the man's temple.

    "Start rewinding, buddy boy."

    His fingers stumbled over his keyboard in his hurry to comply. He pulled up the feed and began rewinding.

    "Faster. Gotta go back a few hours." Wade narrowed his eyes as he watched people and cars zipping by. He reacted quickly when a black van parked in front of Peter's building. " _There!_ Pause."

    Wade leaned into the man's space to trace an unfamiliar logo on the van's side.

    "Do you know where that van is from?"

    "Y-yeah!" He nodded vigorously. "Some warehouse in Lower West Side. Near Hudson."

    "Good enough, I guess." Wade smacked a kiss through his mask on the side of the man's head and holstered his gun. "I'll let ya live. Thanks!"

    The man whimpered, "No pr-problem."

    "Don't tattle!" Wade yelled over his shoulder as he took off again. "Snitches end up in ditches!"

    {No tacos, no Petey, and now no _killing_?! This day is horrible!}

    [This is one of those rare times when I agree.]

    Wade sprinted west down the street and the people parted when they saw a fully costumed man barreling their way. "Don't worry, bitches. Someone's gonna fucking die.”

 

* * *

  

    It took almost an hour of hunting in the darkened streets of Lower West Side to find the right warehouse. Wade found the van parked outside at the back of the abandoned building, but there was no sign of anyone watching said building. After a quick survey of the perimeter, Wade climb into a window near the roof that was propped open.

    The window had been over the rafters so when Wade let go of the windowsill he landed lightly on a beam. The warehouse was dark and silent for the first few moments that Wade took to adjust, but he then spotted a light in the back of the building. The rafters were close enough for Wade to easily jump from beam to beam towards the source.

    As he got closer, two distinct voices became clear. Wade stopped just at the edge of the light and took in the scene before him. Two white, middle-aged men - one short, broad, and hairy and the other tall, thin, and bald - were arguing. Just past them, under the harsh light of a large lamp, was an unconscious Peter. He was strapped with thick rope at the wrists and ankles to a metal chair.

    "I'm telling you I heard something," the short one said as he looked suspiciously into the darkness.

    " _Chill_ , man. It's just starting to rain," the bald man replied. And sure enough, the patter of water droplets striking the metal roof began to echo in the large space.

    {Perfect timing.}

    [Is there really just _two_ of them? Hydra isn't what it used to be.]

    The rain started falling faster and the noise must have roused Peter. His head lolled forward causing him to groan at the movement. The two Hydra grunts snapped to attention at the sound.

    "I don't fucking understand," Shorty growled. He stomped over to their captive and tipped his head back. He pried one of Peter's eyes open - Wade just then noticed that his glasses were gone - to check his pupil. "We gave this kid the highest dose we could. He should've been out for a few more hours."

    "We can interrogate him ourselves," Baldy suggested as he joined his partner. He kicked the leg of the chair Peter was tied to. "He looks like he would squeal if we just pinched him."

    "We have orders. We were suppose to just search his apartment, catch him, and prep the room." Shorty walked over to a makeshift table and began unrolling a large, leather bundle. Wade clenched his jaw as rows of torture tools were displayed. "He didn't even have the damn book!"

    "This could be our chance to prove ourselves! Come _on_ , man!" Baldy urged behind Shorty's back. "We get the info out of this geek and we move up in the ranks. Or do you want to be a Hydra grunt forever?"

    "...Fine," Shorty reluctantly agreed. He pulled out a long, thin knife from the assortment of sharp instruments. "But we're gonna take turns. I don't want you to take all the credit."

    Shorty returned to his spot in front of Peter and tapped the tip of the knife against the hero's forehead. Peter flinched away from the blade and finally blinked his eyes open.

    "Wha-what the hell?" Peter squinted up at his captors. "Did you jus' poke me in the head? Tha's rude."

    "Oh, he's gonna be a talker. Let me try something." Baldy pushed Shorty to the side and took his place.

    Peter looked around the warehouse blearily before whining, "Can you get that light outta my face? I can't see how ugly you are."

    "You're really cute with that mouth of yours," Baldy chuckled. He reached out and grabbed a fistful of Peter's hair and jerked his head to the side. "I can think of some ways to shut you up."

    "When I get up, I'm gonna kick your ass firs', cue ball," Peter grumbled groggily. Wade felt a sense of pride flare to life at the threat.

    {That's my boy!}

    [I've heard better but I'll let it slide since he's doped up.]

    "I'd like to see you try, kid," the bald man laughed as he pulled something from his pocket. Wade recognized the small weapon when the man tossed it into the air and caught it. Rage bubbled in his stomach as the man slipped the brass knuckles over his fingers. "But you're not gonna get up anytime soon."

    He delivered a swift uppercut into Peter's gut and he doubled over from the force of the hit. The hero wheezed through a coughing fit. "I guess Hydra is, _ugh_ , perfect for a Neo-Nazi, huh?"

    Shorty placed a hand on his partner's shoulder when he made a move to hit Peter again. Baldy paused and stepped back. Shorty took his place in front of Peter. "Look, kid. All you have to do is tell us where your notebook is."

    "Tha's all ya want, huh?" Peter was struggling to lift his head up but he managed to glare at his captors. "Hmmm... Oh, yeah... I left it a'cha mom's."

    Wade muffled a snort of laughter.

    "That's too bad. I guess we'll have to wait patiently for you to cooperate." Shorty grinned at Baldy and pointed to the table. "Wanna play tic-tac-toe?"

    "Sure," Baldy replied. He plucked another knife from the table and rejoined his partner. "I wanna be x's."

    "Okay, but I'm starting." Shorty jerked up Peter's sleeve until his bicep was bared. He drew his knife slowly down the bared arm and Peter hissed as his skin split under the blade.

    Wade took that as his cue to launch himself from his perch. He landed in a crouch behind the Hydra grunts and swept their legs out from under them before they could even register what was happening.

    "What the fuck?!" Baldy yelped as he landed hard on the concrete floor. Shorty scrambled for his knife that had landed out of his reach.

    "Sorry, guys," Wade sprang up from his crouch and kicked the knife farther away. Baldy had managed to keep his knife and his brass knuckles but his hands were shaking too hard to use either, let alone push himself up from the ground. "I'm gonna have to end this little party."

    Wade stepped on Shorty's hand when he tried stand up and giggled when he screamed. The mercenary ground down on the delicate bones under his boot. "See, Petey is _my_ little nerd. _I'm_ the only one allowed to play with him."

    He lifted his boot off of Shorty's hand and the man curled up in a tiny ball with his mangled limb cradled to his chest. "W-we weren't gonna really hurt him! I swear."

    "Lies, lies, pickles, and fries," Wade tsked. He reached behind him to pull a katana from its sheath. "I think I'll give you a cut to match Petey's."

    He stepped forward with his sword poised to strike but he stopped when he felt a knife being buried into his calf. Wade glanced down to see that Baldy had managed to crawl over to defend his partner.

    "Aww. That's so sweet. You grew some balls for your buddy, Baldy!" Wade reached down and jerked the knife out of his leg. Baldy sputtered when he got a faceful of blood. The knife was tossed to the side and Wade then wrapped his hand around the Hydra grunt's scrawny neck. Wade lifted him up until his toes were off the ground and started squeezing.

    Ugly choking noises gurgled from his gaping mouth as he struggled in Wade's grasp.

    "Stop!" Peter cried out, startling Wade from his bloodlust. "Wade, p-please. Don't kill him."

    {Kill him! Petey's high, he don't know what he wants.}

    [Do it. Kill both of them.]

    Wade stared into the Hydra grunt's bulging eyes and sighed. "You're no fun, baby boy." He dropped he man next to his partner and put his katana away. The grunts huddled together and Wade squatted down until he was eye level with them. "You're lucky that Petey is such a sweetie or you guys would be permanent stains on this concrete.

    "Now I’ve got a message for whoever was gonna come and do the _actual_ torturing: if you want the fucking book you'll have to get it from me. I'm Deadpool, beeteedubs. Just in case you two were made in a lab somewhere. Now nod if you understand me."

    The two men did impressions of a couple of bobble-heads.

    "Great! Then we're done here."

    { _What_?! Nooooo!}

    [At least take his knuckles.]

    "Good idea. You can never have too many." Wade snatched the brass knuckles from Baldy, breaking a few fingers as he pulled them free. A hoarse scream was ripped from his bruised throat. "Hmm. I should probably knock you both out too."

    He grabbed the two men by the side of their heads and slammed them together before they could react. Wade ran over to Peter when he was satisfied that the grunts were out cold, and began checking him for any injuries that he wasn't aware of.

    "What would you do without me, Petey?" Wade asked while he examined the hero's arm. The wound was shallow and the bleeding had already stopped.

    "I could've taken 'em, Wade." Peter slurred. Wade snorted as he began sawing at the bindings with his own knife. He caught the hero as he slumped forward when he was freed. "I ju-just needed a sec."

    " _Eres tan tonto,_ " Wade mumbled to himself - he always slipped into some other language when he came down from a stressful situation - as he scooped the drugged hero up into a bridal carry. Peter's head rolled around until he groaned into Wade's shoulder. " _Ni siquiera sé por qué eres mi héroe favorito._ "

    Peter blinked blearily up at him and Wade noted the blush forming through his pasty skin. "I wanna tell you to stop talking." He then looped his arms around Wade's neck and snuggled closer. "But you can keep talking just this once."

    Wade's brain short-circuited.

    [Holy shit. Someone wants you to actually talk more?]

    {He's sooooo fucking cute. I can't even handle it.}

    " _T-te gusta cuando hablo de esta manera?_ " Wade managed to get out as he carried Peter out of the warehouse and into the rain. " _O simplemente te gusta cuando suendo inteligente?_ "

    But when Wade glanced down at the man in his arms he was surprised to find him fast asleep, even with the cold rain striking his face. Yellow cooed in the back of his mind.

    {He trusted us enough to fall asleep. How precious!}

    [He trusted us enough to fall asleep. What the everloving fuck?]

    "Yeah. I'm a little shocked too," Wade whispered. He continued to stare down in awe at the hero's pale face - mesmerized by the drops of water clinging to his eyelashes - and couldn't help the fondness that seeped into his voice.

    " _Bicho raro. Qué voy a hacer contigo?_ "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:  
> 1.) You're so dumb. I don't even know why you are my favorite hero. - _"Eres tan tonto" "Ni siquiera sé por qué eres mi héroe favorito."_
> 
> 2.) Y-you like it when I talk like this? Or do you just like when I sound smart? - _"T-te gusta cuando hablo de esta manera?" "O simplemente te gusta cuando sueno inteligente?"_
> 
> 3.) Weirdo. What am I going to do with you? - _"Bicho raro. Qué voy a hacer contigo?"_
> 
> Can you tell alphasaceraptor had a lot of fun with this chapter? Because she did.
> 
> If you catch any mistakes, don't hesitate to let us know in the comments! Also, you know, let us know how much you love it. Or hate it. Or whatever. Sorry this chapter was so late, fingers crossed it won't happen again!


	6. The Chapter Where Wade Shows of His Language Skills (And Peter is a Bit of a Brat)

    Peter woke up feeling distinctly sick.

    Even before the thought had fully formed, a bucket was shoved into his lap. Peter vomited, bile burning up his throat and choking him. He barely registered someone – Wade, he thought a little blankly – rubbing his back in a soothing manner.

    He coughed pathetically into the bucket, the smell making him gag all over again. He blinked, feeling thoroughly worn out despite just waking up. Between closing and opening his eyes, a glass of water was pressed to his lips.

    “Rinse,” someone – Wade, he reminded himself – said. Peter swished the water around his mouth obediently and spat it into the bucket, relieved that most of the taste washed away. He swallowed, his burning throat protesting. The glass pressed against his lips again.

    “Drink,” Wade said. Peter did so, greedily sucking down the water, letting out a pathetic noise when Wade pulled the cup back. “Not too fast,” the mercenary ordered. “You’ll make yourself sick again, and then what was the point of drinking in the first place?”

    Peter coughed. “You talk too much,” he rasped.

    “Well, baby boy, they don’t call me the Merc with the Mouth for nothing,” Wade replied, pressing the glass back to Peter’s lips. Peter took a careful sip, feeling a little more alert with each passing second.

    He was in an unfamiliar room, on a bed that creaked every time he moved. He was dry, even though he vaguely recalled the cold sting of rain against his skin. And – and had Wade been speaking Spanish?

    “What happened?” he asked, his voice still hoarse. He tried to clear it reflectively, even though it felt like his throat was filled with nails.

    “Short and sweet version: You got kidnapped by Hydra, I came to your rescue,” Wade replied easily, offering the glass again.

    Peter took another drink. “Long version?”

    Wade chuckled. “What I said, just with a few more curses and bits of colourful language. I was coming to visit you with tacos – and I’m sorry about sending you home even though you were probably fine, but better safe than sorry, right? – and then I saw your door was open and figured you were probably in a great big shitload of trouble.

    “So I Sherlock Holmesed that shit and figured out where you were, busted in like a knight in those old fairy tales – which of course make you the lovely damsel, and what a _damn_ sel, if you know what I mean – and kicked some good old fashioned ass. Left them a message.”

    Peter took another sip. There were several important things to address. “Left them a message?” he repeated.

    Wade nodded cheerfully. “Next time Hydra wants to play, they gotta invite _me_. I _love_ being invited to fun and games, especially if they involve fun toys.” Wade’s eyes flickered to where his katanas sat, carefully placed against the wall and out of the way, but still within reach.

    “Did you kill them?” Peter asked.

    “‘Course not! How am I supposed to leave a message if they aren’t alive to send it?” Wade demanded.

    There were several ways that Peter could think of, but he didn’t want to give the mercenary any ideas. “Thank you,” he said instead.

    Wade paused. “For?”

    “For not killing them,” Peter replied, a little drowsily. He was _really_ starting to feel tired. Being kidnapped and held hostage really took a lot out of a guy, even if the guy was Spider-man. “That was nice of you.”

    Wade was uncharacteristically quiet for a second. “You asked me not to,” he muttered, standing up. “You think I’d ignore a request like that from you?”

    Peter blinked up at him. “Still,” he murmured. “Thanks.” His eyes slipped closed, and he drifted off to sleep without hearing the mercenary’s reply.

 

* * *

 

    Peter woke up feeling very clear headed. He lay on his back for a moment, staring at the ceiling, before he sat up and swung his feet out of the bed.

    By the time he was standing, he wasn’t surprised to see Wade appear in the doorway, arms folded as he regarded Peter. Peter glanced up at him, eyes narrowed. His current state of undress – he was only wearing his jeans – may have contributed to his already foul mood.

    Scratch that. It _definitely_ had.

    “You shouldn’t be up,” Wade said. “You’re still recovering. And I may not know much about normal people’s recovery, but –”

    “Let me stop you right there,” Peter interrupted, sounding undeniably cranky. “You _do_ know about normal people’s recovery, because you’ve taken care of me twice so far. Not to mention, starting out with 'you shouldn’t be up you’re still recovering' means you know enough about how ‘normal’ people recover.” Peter paused for breath, wrinkling his nose a little at the very obvious bite in his tone.

    He exhaled, rubbing his arm. He could feel the wound from the knife, now nothing more than a faint red line. Admittedly, it hadn’t been very deep to begin with, but it still wouldn’t have healed that quickly for a normal person.

    “Where are my glasses?” Peter demanded.

    Wade cleared his throat. “Well, see, they sort of… Broke them. I mean, I’m not exactly handy, but I think they’re beyond repair.” He pulled the broken frames from one of his many pouches, his mask unreadable.

    Peter snatched them from Wade’s hand and glared at the remains of his glasses. Truthfully, they’d been broken worse. He’d be able to fix them once he got home. “Thank you,” he said tersely, carefully picking broken glass from the frames. “For getting them back.”

    He debated whether or not to call the mercenary out on another lie – he was willing to bet that, like Peter, Wade made his own suits, complete with the pouches. Which meant he _was_ handy – although he probably wouldn’t be all that great at fixing glasses.

    “They’re fixable,” Peter added. “I’m glad you didn’t throw them out. They’ve seen worse.”

    Wade shook his head. “No way, Jose. You can’t fix those – it’d take a miracle.”

    Peter glanced up. He wiggled his fingers. “I have magical phalanges,” he replied.

    Wade grinned. “Get your own material, intern. I have been working on lines like those for longer than you’ve been alive. And let me tell you, the amount of people that don’t fucking appreciate my hard work and the effort I put into each and every one of them… It’s disheartening.”

    “I’m sure,” Peter murmured. “What did you say?” he asked abruptly, eyes returning to study Wade’s mask.

    Wade tilted his head. “I say a lot of things on a regular basis. You’ll have to be more specific.”

    “The Spanish.”

    Wade’s relaxed posture tightened. “You remember that?”

    “Yes.”

    “Huh. Didn’t expect that. You weren’t exactly coherent at that point.”

    Peter pursed his lips. “I’d just been drugged. I think you can forgive me. Don’t avoid the question, Wade.”

    Wade scratched the back of his neck. “I was just talking shit, Petey. Nothing serious.”

    “Are you a good liar, Wade?” Peter asked.

    The mercenary tensed even further, hands ghosting towards his empty thigh holsters. “Depends on why I’m lying,” he eventually replied, hands drifting back to his sides. “Why do you ask?”

    “I was just curious about something,” Peter admitted, still picking at the glass stuck in the frames of his glasses. “Well,” he said, pausing to frown up at the mercenary, “several things. But one in particular.”

    “Just one?” Wade asked, the joking tone not distracting Peter from the way his fingers twitched. “I thought you genius science kids were supposed to have all the questions buzzing around under your hair! You’re a disappointment to the genius science kids, Petey!”

    “What did you mean when you said I was ‘probably fine’?” Peter tilted his head, widening his eyes to give the appearance of innocence. “I mean, you saw my back, right? Even with your lack of knowledge about how ‘normal’ people heal, you’d know that people don’t just heal from that.”

    Wade was frozen by the door, the white eyes of his mask fixed on Peter’s face.

    “So you want to tell me what makes you think I’d ‘probably be fine’ considering how long you probably know it would take a ‘normal’ person to heal from something like that?” Peter demanded.

 

* * *

* * *

 

    Wade's mind stumbled as he went over every word he had said since he brought the hero to safehouse _número tres_. Peter watched him warily from the side of the bed, his glasses held loosely in his hands. The hero was expecting an answer that Wade wasn't ready to give.

    {He's got ya there, big guy.}

    [How are we going to play this?]

    {It's a trap!}

    [Yellow just wanted to make a Star Wars reference but he's right. Parker just wants us to admit that we know he's Spider-man.]

    {So we know that Petey knows that we know he's Spidey?}

    “Yeah," Wade breathed, trying to think of answer without giving up the game. An idea popped into his head almost immediately and he grinned widely under his mask. Peter's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

    "Alright!" Wade dramatically threw his arms up in defeat. "You got me! It's true. I know your secret."

    "I _knew_ it!" Peter exclaimed. He tossed his glasses onto the bed and then reached up to tug on his hair with his free hands. "I knew that you knew I was-"

    "Enhanced in some way," Wade interrupted at the right moment. Peter's mouth snapped shut and then fell back open. "I mean, it was pretty obvious. I'm not sure what's up with you but you definitely have a healing factor, some strength and some agility."

    {Ohh! I see what you are doing!}

    [Good idea. Admit you know about the powers without admitting about that you know about Spider-man.]

    {Look at Petey. He has no idea what to say.}

    [That manic look in his eyes is very satisfying.]

    Wade watched Peter flounder around for a few seconds before he finally managed to speak. "Are you saying you _don't_ know I'm-"

    "A mutant? A mutate? An alien hybrid?" Wade slid in smoothly and Peter gave him a bewildered look. "Yeah. I don't know what you are, but I do know you've been keeping it a secret from everyone. Must be tough to do seeing as you work with a bunch of super people."

    "I-I'm..." Peter stuttered. His eyes were wide with panic. "I am _not_ going to talk to you about it."

    "You'd make a good hero. Powers and a big brain equals heaps of potential. You could even invent your own gadgets like Spidey!" Wade clapped as another idea came to him. The boxes snickered evilly in the back of his mind. "Wait! You've been following Spidey around for years. Did you help make his web stuff?"

    Peter blinked rapidly. "Uh..."

    "Nah, Spidey-babe is smart enough to make his own shit." Wade waved his hand dismissively. "He's probably _way_ smarter than you."

    {BURN!}

    [Implying that his own alter-ego is smarter than him is mean. I love it.]

    {Oh my gah. His face. I can't.}

    [His eye literally just twitched.]

    "Spider-man is not smarter than me," Peter grumbled as he crossed his arms over his bare chest. "This conversation is not going the way I thought it was."

    " _Apuesto_ ," Wade replied smugly. " _Que pena. Quiero jugar el juego un poco más._ "

    Peter shifted his weight from foot to foot and gripped his arms tighter. Wade watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. "How many languages can you speak?"

    {Look at Petey's neck. And his arms. And his abs.]

    [There goes Yellow.]

    {We should have taken his pants off. They were wet too.}

    [Ignore him. Peter's trying to change the subject.]

    Wade tilted his head and muttered, " _Lo dejaré_."

    "What does that mean?" Peter whined.

    Wade ignored that question and answered the previous one. "I'm fluent in Spanish, German, Japanese, and American Sign. I'm pretty decent in French, Russian, and Mandarin. Everything else is just the basics."

    "Everything else?" Peter asked, his eyes widened. "Do you mean you-"

    "Can speak a little bit of every known language on Earth?" Wade spoke over him again. He chuckled when Peter's mouth fell open. "Almost. There's some African dialects I still haven't gotten to yet."

    "Yet," Peter repeated, looking stunned.

    Wade shrugged nonchalantly. "I really _really_ just wanted to live up to the Merc with the Mouth moniker."

    "Say something in Japanese," Peter challenged.

    Wade pressed his hands together and bowed. " _Kimi no oshiri wa geijutsu na sakuhin._ "

    "Was that a prayer?" Peter's voice wavered. Wade rose from his bow and studied Peter's expression.

 _" Ton visage est rouge._" Wade reached out to brush a hand against Peter's cheek. The hero turned his head away but he didn't step back.

    "French, huh?" Peter mumbled as he looked to the side. "You can stop now."

    [A flush that's spreading down his chest, dilated pupils, and accelerated breathing. You know what that means.]

    {If this is him reluctantly turned on imagine what he would look like if he gave in.}

    "Peter. _Posmotri na menya._ " Wade reached out again and gently grasped Peter's chin. Peter jerk out of the hold but met Wade's eyes. " _Tebe nravitsya, kogda ya govoryu tak?_ "

    A muscle jumped in Peter's jaw as he spoke through clenched teeth. " _Please._ Shut up."

    {Do you think it's just the talking that does it?}

    [No. I think it's when Wade says or does anything intelligent.]

    " _No me voy a callar_ ," Wade growled, switching back to Spanish as he suddenly became aggravated. Peter subtly flinched at the angry tone. " _"Esto es ridículo. Es estúpido estar atraído a alguien sólo por que es inteligente._ "

    "I said shut up, Wade!" Peter yelled as he stepped closer. His bare chest almost brushed the front of Wade's suit as it heaved from the deep breaths he took. Wade looked down at him and took it everything, from the vein pulsing in Peter's neck to the ways his hands were clenched tightly into white-knuckled fists.

    Wade leaned down until their faces were only an inch apart and glared as he hissed, " _Zwing mich doch, kleine Spinne_."

    Peter bared his teeth in a snarl that twisted his pretty features. He lifted up his hands like he was going to grab Wade and the mercenary stiffened in response. His mind went over dozens of ways to incapacitate the much stronger man, and his boxes started screaming suggestions. But the attack he had been expecting never came.

    The hero froze as a growling noise filled the space in between them.

    " _Oh_ ," Peter gasped. He stepped back and wrapped his arms around his stomach. "I don't remember the last time I ate."

    Wade blinked a few times to adjust to the sudden change of tension in the room. He straightened up and scratched the back of his mask awkwardly. "Right. Food. I can do that."

    "Food," Peter repeated with a dazed look on his face. His stomach gave another loud rumble.

    {Please wrap him in blankets and pet him and feed him.}

    [Weren't we just mad at him a second ago?]

    "Forget about that. We got more important things to do." Wade snapped his fingers under Peter's nose to get the hungry hero's full attention. "I know _exactly_ what you need, baby boy."

    "Food?" Peter asked hopefully. And maybe a little warily too.

    "Not just any kind of food, Petey." Wade shook his head solemnly. "Pancakes." He threw his head back and laughed when Peter's stomach cheered. "That settles it then. Pancakes for my new incredibly cranky roomie."

    Peter's eyes snapped back into focus and locked on Wade. "Roomie?

    "Yep," Wade said. He spun on his heel and left the bedroom. "You're staying with me until this shit is settled."

    " _Nonononono_ ," Peter chanted from close behind him.

    "No matter how many times you say no it's still gonna happen."

    {That sounded bad.}

    [Think before you speak.]

    "It didn't sound _that_ bad."

    "Yes it did," Peter grumbled. Wade ignored him and stopped in the middle of the living room. He started pointing vaguely around the barren room.

    "There's the door. Don't even think about going near it. There's the bathroom. Don't worry, it's fully stocked. And that's the kitchen." Wade then indicated the only piece of furniture in the room. "Park yourself on the couch, Parker. I'm gonna whip up some of the _best_ pancakes you'll ever have. Seriously. They are orgasmic."

    "Deadpool!" Peter exclaimed. Wade finally looked back at the hero. He looked like he was five seconds away from stomping his foot like a child. "I am _not_ staying here."

    "Okay," Wade said slowly, turning to fully face the hero. "Let me explain to you why I'm your only option. You could go to a hotel but I'm guessing that you don't have the money. They'd find you at any hotel in the city anyway. You could stay with a friend or relative but I know you've already tossed that idea. You wouldn't want them to be in danger because of you."

    { _Boom_. Dropping truth bombs all over the place.}

    [This kid needs it. He's obviously seen some shit as Spider-man but he is still too naïve.]

    "So," Wade carried on over his boxes. "That leaves the Avengers. You'd have to explain to them something that only you and I know. Tony is blinded by his own ego and doesn't see that Hydra was after _you_ and what _you_ know. If he knew that it was you and your fucking book then you'd have S.H.I.E.L.D. agents crawling all over you like maggots on a corpse."

    Peter stared at him with wide eyes and Wade couldn't resist. He leaned into the hero's space again but kept going this time. A thrill went through him as he moved to the side so their cheeks brushed lightly. Peter froze with a sharp intake of breath.

    He pressed his lips to Peter's ear - he briefly wished he wasn't wearing the mask, this wasn’t maximum effort - and whispered, "How long do you think you could keep your secret?"

    "...Fine," Peter said a moment later, an audible hitch to his voice. Wade backed off and grinned smugly down at the hero. "I'll stay. But you're not going to keep me locked it here. I'm going back to work in a couple of days. I'll need to stop by my apartment to get my things."

    "I'll go for you later," Wade shrugged but Peter jumped at that.

    " _No!_ " Peter yelped. He waved his hands between them and Wade just managed to keep a straight face at his flailing. "We'll both go, okay?"

    [He doesn't want us to find his suit and gadgets.]

    {Awww. He's so cute when he's flustered.}

    [You think _everything_ he does is cute.]

    {So do you! You're just in denial!}

    [No, I'm not. Shut up.]

    Peter turned away from Wade and vaulted over the back of the couch. He laid down and crossed his arms over his - still bare - chest. "Make my pancakes."

    "Bossy. I like it," Wade giggled. Peter flipped him off.

    Wade stood there for a second and watched Peter get comfortable. The hero was rubbing a thumb across the red mark on his arm, the remainder of the cut from the Hydra grunt. He thought about asking Peter how he was doing but knew that he would only become defensive even though the healing was no longer a secret between them. He shook his thoughts away and headed towards the kitchen.

    "Wait!" Peter called after him.

    Wade paused in the kitchen doorway and looked over his shoulder. "Yes, baby boy?"

    "Get me a shirt first, _roomie_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
>  _Apuesto. Que pena. Quiero jugar el juego un poco más._ Spanish - I bet. Too bad. I want to play this game a little longer.
> 
>  _Lo dejaré._ Spanish - I'll let him.
> 
>  _Kimi no oshiri wa geijutsu na sakuhin._ Japanese - Your ass is a work of art.
> 
>  _Ton visage est rouge._ French - Your face is red.
> 
>  _Posmotri na menya. Tebe nravitsya, kogda ya govoryu tak?_ Russian - Look at me. Do you like it when I talk like this?
> 
>  _No me voy a callar. Esto es ridículo. Es estúpido estar atraído a alguien sólo por que es inteligente._ Spanish - I'm not going to shut up. This is ridiculous. It's stupid to be attracted to someone just because they are smart.
> 
>  _Zwing mich doch, kleine Spinne._ German - Make me, little spider.
> 
> Sorry it's taken so long for a new chapter! We hit a bit of a speed-bump, but hopefully the next chapter won't take us as long <3
> 
> Remember to leave us comments, we both love them!
> 
> EDIT: I did the thing so that when you hover your mouse over the different languages, it'll come up with the translation! Thanks for the tip MsJody13!


	7. The Chapter Where The Game is Up and Pillow Forts Are a Thing

    Peter, for what felt like the thousandth time in about ten minutes, glanced at the door. He could run, he supposed. Short-term, it was a good plan. What with the mess Wade was making of him, the constant pushing of his buttons and the downright _rude_ assumption that the mercenary could _lie_ to Peter about something as important as knowing that he was _Spider-man_ …

    “Don’t even think about it!” Wade called cheerfully from the kitchen. Peter scowled. The mercenary couldn’t even _see_ him right now. “Pancakes are almost ready, and you are _not_ leaving before you’ve tried some. You’re not leaving _after_ you’ve tried some, either. Wow, that sounded less horror movie in my head.”

    Peter groaned and buried his face into his arms. “I hate you,” he said, voice muffled.

    “I know you’re going to mean love in a minute,” Wade replied. “No, not really. Hey, no knocking my pancakes. _Orgasmic_ , I tell you. Just you wait.”

    Peter listened to the sounds Wade was making in the kitchen for a moment before letting the noise fade into the background. He thought about Wade’s insistence that he was ‘enhanced in some way’, the barely acceptable bullshit that meant Wade hadn’t admitted to knowing he was Spider-man. He didn’t understand _why_ the other man was so eager to keep pretending he had no clue about Peter’s secret identity.

    Maybe he _didn’t_ know? Peter shook his head, thumb relocating to his mouth. He bit down absently, teeth pressing into his skin. No, Wade knew. Peter _knew_ he did. He had to, because if he didn’t…

    If he didn’t, what? Peter chewed on his thumb, eyes narrowed. Why did it matter if Wade didn’t know? It was _better_ if Wade didn’t know. Safer, easier… But Peter felt something swoop in his stomach at the thought of Wade not knowing.

    There was a sting of pain, and then Peter felt a harsh grip on his wrist. He jerked, thumb escaping his mouth with a low pop, and blinked up at Wade’s mask.

    “What the _fuck_ , Peter?” the mercenary demanded harshly, practically vibrating with rage.

    “What?” Peter snapped back, immediately defensive. “I haven’t even _done_ anything.”

    Wade growled, shaking the wrist he was still holding. “You call this nothing?” he asked, and Peter blinked to see blood – not quite pouring, not _really_ – but leaking out of the marks he’d left with his teeth.

    “Oh,” Peter said, relaxing in surprise. “I didn’t… I didn’t realize.”

    Wade made a noise of disbelief. “Didn’t _realize_?” he almost shouted. “Jesus, Peter! The hell possessed you to bite yourself?”

    Peter pulled his wrist free, examining the wound. It wasn’t that bad, not really. He’d had worse. “It helps me think,” he muttered back.

    “Biting until you bleed helps you _think_?” Wade repeated.

    “Well, no. But usually…” Usually, he was wearing gloves, and Peter could see the exact moment the realization dawned on Wade. Peter settled back, smug. Wade _did_ know.

    Wade sighed, his eyes flicking to Peter’s thumb. “You shouldn’t hurt yourself.”

    _Hypocritical piece of_ – Peter cut off his thought. “What does it matter?” he asked. He waved his already (slowly) healing thumb. “I’ll heal.”

    Wade’s face went blank. Peter watched, alert for any changes, but there were none. After a moment of strained silence – yes, Peter had just done that. Suck on it, Deadpool – he sat back, producing a plate of still-warm pancakes.

    “Enjoy,” Wade said eventually, placing the plate in Peter’s lap and standing up. “And I meant it. You’re not leaving by yourself. We’ll get your stuff later and then we’re coming back here.”

    The pancakes smelled delicious, and Peter was distracted enough to nod in reply. They were fluffy, golden brown, cooked in the most perfect circle Peter had ever seen. He felt a stab of shame when he thought that they probably tasted better than Aunt May’s, even though it was probably true. Aunt May’s pancakes were on par with her meatloaf – Peter only ate either of them when he was properly starving.

    Peter took his first bite and he swore his eyes actually rolled back into his head. He wasn’t even aware he was making noises, little hums of pleasure that only increased the more he ate. Peter settled back onto the couch with a satisfied sound, drowsily contemplating actually licking the plate clean.

    Peter knew he was cracking. Knew that his usual coping mechanisms just weren’t cutting it. But he’d be fine once he got away from Wade, once he was back in his suit and swinging through New York. He’d always handled things better as Spider-man, and he was sure that this time would be no exception.

    But first, he wanted to sleep.

    Gentle hands rearranged him, lifting his legs up onto the couch – so gentle, why were they gentle? They were killing hands, hands that liked playing with bombs and knives and katanas and… And guns. People who played with guns weren’t supposed to have gentle hands.

    Peter nuzzled into couch, the scent of stale Mexican food making him smile. Wade and his Mexican food. His fingers curled around… Something, it didn’t matter what. Beyond the fact that it was warm and smelled like Wade, Peter didn’t care.

    And that… Should be worrying. He hadn’t _wanted_ to like the mercenary, certainly hadn’t expected to feel safe with him… Yet here he was. Curling up to sleep in Wade’s couch. What even was his life?

    Did he not want to acknowledge that Peter was Spider-man because he was disappointed? Peter frowned, burying his face deeper into the couch. What a bad thought to have, so close to sleep. But he couldn’t un-think it. And it made sense. Spider-man was… Well, _amazing_ , for one thing. Peter Parker… was not.

    Peter couldn’t really think of another reason why the mercenary would be so adamant about pretending not to know. He’d been so sure that Wade would be excited, would be shoving the information in his face and using it to blackmail him into random taco dates. This reaction was unexpected.

    Wade had been altogether too quick with his interruptions for Peter’s liking. He made a dissatisfied noise, fingers clenching absently, but settled after a moment. Wade _had_ to be disappointed to find out that his _hero_ was some nerdy science geek.

    And the bit… The bit with the languages. Peter shivered, warmth pooling in his stomach at the memory. He’d gotten so _angry_. Peter had lunged at the mercenary, furious. The desire to punch the living daylights out of Wade had been on par with the desire to kiss him.

    Peter honestly still wasn’t sure which option would have won. Even worse, he wasn’t sure which option Wade would have liked more, and that bothered him.

 

* * *

 

    He woke up screaming.

    There were hands on him, hands that were too rough and too strong and too _there_ , and the next second he heard the sound of something – some _one_ – slamming into the wall. He sat up, heart pounding, and heard Wade groan.

    “Shit,” he gasped, practically falling off the couch and stumbling over to where Wade was lying. “Wade? I’m sorry, I didn’t – ”

    “Hey, settle down,” Wade said, sitting up. “I’m fine.”

    Peter shook his head. “I just kicked you into a _wall_ , Wade. Please don’t lie to me.” _Again_ , he almost said, but he didn’t let the word escape his mouth.

    Wade jumped up. “No lies, Petey. I’m as right as rain. Weird saying, that one. Are _you_ okay?”

    “I’m fine,” Peter replied, blinking up at him blankly. He was _Spider-man_ , he was always fine. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

    “Petey, you were screaming your head off,” Wade replied. Oh. Right. Peter had forgotten about that. “Are you alright?”

    Peter nodded slowly. “I _am_ fine, I promise. I can’t… remember what I was dreaming about.”

    “Good,” Wade breathed, relieved. “That’s good.”

    The room was dark, but Peter could see in the dark. He watched Wade look back at the couch, his mask making the look forlorn. Actually, now that he thought about it…

    “Why were you on the couch?” Peter asked. “I thought you were going to bed?”

    Wade laughed. “Peter, you _dragged_ me onto that couch,” he replied. “I was your pillow. Not that I minded,” Wade continued hastily. “You’re very… snuggly.”

    Peter snorted. “Right. _Snuggly_.” He stood up, ignoring Wade’s offered hand. “I’m sorry I woke you,” he said. “I’ll just…” He gestured to the couch.

    Wade cleared his throat, suddenly awkward. “Right. I’ll just…” He gestured to the bedroom, and stumbled away.

    Peter moved to sit on the couch, but he was too awake to go back to sleep. He pretended anyway, making his breathing deep and even until he heard Wade unconsciously echoing him. Peter sat up, listening for any changes in the mercenary’s breathing pattern.

    He didn’t have time to dawdle. Wade could wake up at any moment – and by the time he did, Peter wanted to be at his apartment, collecting his things. It hadn’t exactly been the plan when he’d fallen asleep that morning, but the timing was perfect.

    But going out the front door was too easy. Peter frowned, absently biting his thumb. Maybe if he pretended to go out the front door, and then hid – because he was sure Wade would wake up to the sound of his door opening and closing, no matter how deeply he was actually sleeping – he’d be able to find another exit. Get a head start.

    Before he could talk himself out of it, Peter crept to the door, opening it as quietly as possible and then closing it. He then moved up onto the ceiling, breathing silently. There was no sound as he crawled carefully across the ceiling, eyes on the bedroom door.

    Not three seconds later, Wade emerged from the bedroom, disgustingly alert.

    “You were right,” Wade muttered, and for a single, horrifying moment Peter thought Wade was talking to him. “No, I know. _Mierda_. We gotta catch him before he does something stupid.” Wade paused, listening to something Peter couldn’t hear. “Idiot do-gooder,” Wade muttered, stalking towards the door.

    Peter didn’t think he imagined the note of exasperated fondness in Wade’s tone, and he felt himself flush.

    He waited for Wade to step out the door and be gone for a few seconds before moving. He dropped from the ceiling, moving quickly but quietly through the apartment until he found exactly what he was looking for. A window.

    Peter was out of Wade’s apartment in a heartbeat.

 

* * *

* * *

 

     Wade never got the chance to calm his heart rate down before Peter made his escape.

    He was still recovering from the torture of being dragged onto the couch - sans pouches and weapons, thankfully. That would have become a different kind of uncomfortable real quick - by Peter when Wade had tried to rearrange the hero's gangly limbs into a more comfortable position. Turned out that his comfort required a lap for him to rest his head on. Peter had latched onto Wade's wrist before he could slip out from underneath him and had nuzzled closer to Wade's body.

_Too close._

    [Liar.]

    {Not close enough.}

    He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that but it felt like an eternity. Wade's traitorous body - and traitorous boxes - had inappropriately responded to the contact. He had to employ every boner killing technique he knew to will his erection away. They had worked, to an extent, but no matter how many times he pictured Blind Al naked, he couldn't _quite_ calm down.

    Wade was surprised the sound of his blood surging through his veins hadn't woken the hero up. He hadn't seemed to be sleeping peacefully or deeply.

    Emotions had flickered rapidly across what he could see of Peter's face. Happiness. Confusion. Sadness. Anger. Wade had felt the almost overwhelming urge to use the hand that wasn't in Peter's tight grip to smooth the lines between his eyebrows. To pull his glove off and run his fingers through the smaller man's unruly hair. To do _something_ to ease his unconscious mind so he could sleep deeper.

    When he had to actually try and comfort the kid he had received a swift kick to the chest for his efforts.

    Granted he probably shouldn't have attempted to wake Peter up by shaking him, but the sudden scream that had ripped through the hero had caused Wade to launch himself onto his feet and hover over the thrashing body. It had seemed like a good idea at the time.

    [The whole point of this is for you to not be a complete and total idiot.]

    {There wasn't enough oxygen in his noggin. Boner or no boner.}

     And then it suddenly became awkward. Peter hadn't seem thrilled at the realization that he had been unknowingly shoving his face into Wade's crotch, but he also didn't explode in a fit of Spidey-rage. Which was what Wade had anticipated.

    Always, always, _always_ , with the mixed signals. He would have tugged his hair out in frustration if he had any. He settled for running away to the bedroom with his tail between his legs.

    Of course, Wade couldn't sleep after that, but he had drifted off in his own mind. Listened to White hissing that he was going to run like the coward he always was. Listened to Yellow bitch over the missed opportunity to take advantage of the hero. Listened to his still too-fast heartbeat. Listened to Peter's breathing.

    Listened to the door open and close.

    He wasn't sure why he didn't jump up at the first sound of movement and wasted those few precious seconds.

    [I told you and _told_ you that he wouldn't stay.]

    {It's your fault. Everyone always leaves because of _you_.}

_I know. I know. I_ know!

    [I told you he’d leave.]

    “You were right.”

    {We can’t just _let him go_! He’s gonna get himself killed! Or kidnapped again!}

    Wade huffed. “No, I know. _Mierda_. We gotta catch him before he does something stupid.”

    [He’ll be going back to his apartment.]

    {Of course. All his shit’s there.}

    “Idiot do-gooder,” Wade muttered, shaking his head. He headed towards the door.

    A few more precious seconds ticked by while he made up his mind of whether to go down the stairs to hit the streets or to go up to the roof. The roof won out, knowing that Peter would go that way out of habit. Sure enough, there was a figure in the distance running towards the direction of Peter's apartment.

    Now here he was with his blood pumping hard again as he chased after Peter in the natural light of the moon and the unnatural light of the city. He jumped across rooftops and scaled up fire escapes, trying to close the distance between them. Even without his webs, Peter was still the one with the advantage. He could climb faster with his sticky fingers and toes, and jump farther with his super strength. But Wade was determined and the more experienced hunter of the two.

    Besides, he’d always hated losing.

    It was a bit of a rush to see Peter using his powers outside of his suit. He supposed that meant he had won their unspoken game. Or maybe they were still playing until one of them actually said 'you're/I'm Spider-man'. It had seemed more fun that way in the beginning, but now... Now things felt more serious.

    It took minutes of sprinting recklessly through the city before he caught up to be close enough to make a grab for him. He surged forward in a sudden burst of speed and reached out to snatch the back of Peter's - _his_ \- shirt, but the hero sidestepped at the last possible second. Wade's momentum kept him going and he had to pinwheel his arms to stop.

    He spun around to face Peter who was doubled over laughing? _Laughing_?

    [Alright. I'll admit it. I'm confused.]

    {So our crazy _is_ contagious. Good to know.}

    "Uh. Petey?" Wade asked, eyeing the hero cautiously. "You're kinda freaking me out here. Are you alright?"

    "Am I a- _ha_ -alright?" Peter gasped between giggles. He straightened up his stance and tried to - unsuccessfully - compose himself. "That's at least the fourth time you've asked me that today. And, once again, I'm _fine_. I'm always fine."

    "You don't sound fine," Wade scoffed as he took a tiny shuffling step closer and held his hands out like Peter was a cornered animal. "You sound like someone who had a very PTSD reaction to a nightmare after being drugged, kidnapped, and slightly tortured."

    "I don't have PTSD," Peter hissed, manic laughter suddenly gone as quick as it came.

_Whew... Are mood swings a Spider-man thing or?_

    [He sounded like Yellow when he was laughing and it was giving me the creeps.]

    {Hey! I don't sound _that_ crazy when I laugh, you dick.}

    "Okay, sure," Wade replied easily. "You don't have PTSD and I'm a little girl with pigtails named Twinkle. Care to explain why you ran out the door and risked exposing yourself?"

    "I didn't go out the door," Peter corrected. He crossed his arms and smiled smugly at Wade.

    [Of course he didn't. This is why I hate spiders. Sneaky fucks.]

    {Huh? Then how'd he get out?}

    "You went out the window," Wade said, the scene playing out in his mind as he talked. "You made me think you went out the door, but you were on the ceiling. You waited for me to leave."

    Peter's collected expression visibly faltered. "Yes," he said slowly, confirming what Wade had already figured out. He mentally catalogued his mistake so he'd never make it again.

    "Good one, baby boy!" Wade cheered after a slight pause, causing Peter to flinch. "You finally got one over me. Maybe one day you'll actually catch me sneaking up on you."

    Peter blinked rapidly and Wade grinned cheekily at the hero's confusion. "What are you talking about?" he asked, annoyed. "I always knew when you were sneaking up on me."

    "Nope," Wade chirped, popping the 'p'. "You only knew when I wanted you to."

    {Look. His eyebrow is twitching again. I love when it does that.}

    [Good luck sneaking up on him now. He'll be on to us.]

    "Nah," Wade replied, quietly. "Don’t underestimate my ninja skills. We'll still be able to sneak up on him."

    Peter sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Who's we?"

    " _Me, myself, and I. Solo ride until I die_ ," Wade sang shrilly in lieu of an answer. Yellow began rapping in the back of his mind and White groaned.

    Peter rolled his eyes and spun around. "Yep. That's it. I'm going home."

    "Hey, wait!" Wade yelped as he raced over to the edge of the roof. Peter crouched down and disappeared just as he caught up. "You can't go back."

    "Watch me," Peter called back as he crawled down the building.

    [I'm pretty sure this is an apartment building. All someone has to do is look out the window and he'd be fucked.]

    {Nah. People are dumb. Plus they'd probs get distracted by his ass in those pants and forget to look at his face.}

    Wade quickly sat and dangled his legs over the edge. He leaned out as far as could and yelled down to the retreating figure. "Are you just gonna crawl the whole way, Spidey?"

    And that got the response he was hoping for. Peter instantly halted at the nickname and responded just loud enough for Wade to hear. "You called me Spidey." He looked over his shoulder and eyed Wade strangely.

    "Well, yeah," Wade shrugged. "You're acting very Spidey-like."

    Peter stared at him from that awkward angle and Wade looked back for a few more seconds before he hesitantly began crawling back up. The hero flashed him another odd look that Wade couldn't interpret as he settled in next to him.

    "I was going to come back," Peter began slowly. He wrung his hands in his lap and kicked his heels into the side of the building. The picture of restless energy. "There are things I need to have with me."

    "Your suit and web gadget things can wait until tomorrow afternoon," Wade replied casually. He could be bummed about the game being over so soon later – right now, Peter needed help. He was cracking. "I know exactly what you need instead."

    "I don't need anything from you," Peter instantly responded. It seemed to be more of a reflex at this point than an actual jab, but Wade placed a gloved hand over his heart to feign hurt anyway.

    "Ouch, Spidey. I'm just trying to help." At Peter’s doubtful look – and the subtle way he was edging off the roof – Wade backtracked. "Okay maybe you don't need it from me specifically, but it would be easier to get it from me. Or for me to help you get it."

    "Help me to get what exactly?"

    "Control of the situation. You're feeling out of control right now and shits not going your way. I get it. So let's make a deal, okay?

    "What kind of deal?"

    "You listen to me when we're out of the apartment and we go get your stuff in the morning, but when we’re at my hideout or at in Stark Labs then you're in control."

    "Wh-what do you mean I'll be in control?"

    "I mean you can boss me around. I'll do whatever you want. We can watch whatever you want. Eat whatever you want. Anything, okay?”

    "You'll do anything?"

    "Sure. I'll even wear my maid outfit."

    [You’d do that anyway,] White grumbled.

    {Because we look _fantastic_ in it!}

    "That's really not neces–"

    "And you can even plan the attack on Hydra when we get a hit on which cell is targeting you and Starky," Wade offered quickly

    [{ _What_?}] the boxes chorused in horror.

    "Um, I don't really know how to plan. I'm more of a wait until I'm being attacked and then attack back kinda guy."

    [Exactly! Peter’s never planned anything! We, on the other hand, _have_.]

    {We’re not gonna get to use anything fun,} Yellow whined.

    "Yeah, and that goes so well for you, doesn't it?” Wade asked, ignoring the complaining boxes. “Look at it this way: I got two modes. Either I have a thoroughly thought out strategy, or I'm so unpredictable that I surprise myself. And you know what? I _always_ get the job done. You do the same shit over and over again. Someone’s bound to cotton on to your little routine, and then it’s bye-bye Spidey. So I'm giving you a chance to practice your spontaneity."

    "I really don't thi-"

    "Look. You hang around the super fam all the time. I'm sure their planning skills have rubbed off on you."

    {Speaking of rubbing off...}

    [Please. Don't start. Just don't.]

    "Maybe..."

    "Come on," Wade said, slapping Peter hard on the back. The hero barely budged when a normal human would have gone fallen to their death. "Let's head back."

    Wade stood and offered his hand to Peter, but he waved him off. He waited until Peter was on his feet before exclaiming, "We could make a pillow fort!"

    That startled a laugh out of the hero. He shot Wade a small smile as he responded, "But only if I want to, right?"

    "Yep. Only if you want to."

    They turned back towards Wade's apartment in companionable silence, but Wade couldn't resist nudging Peter's shoulder and adding, "But I _really_ wanna make a pillow fort."

    "... Fine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta da! Guess who's back with a brand new chapter? Me and my partner in crime. Sorry (again) for the delay, writing with someone who lives on the other side of the world is a little harder than pumping out chapters all by yourself.
> 
> Let us know what you think!


	8. The Chapter Where Smut (We Know You All Just Sat Up Straighter in Your Chairs, Don't Fucking Lie~)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there~ Have some smut for being so patient!

    Peter lay on his back in the middle of the most ridiculous pillow fort and contemplated how his life had become so _strange_.

    The easy answer was _Wade Wilson_ and all his associated monikers. The harder answer involved feelings, stupid decisions and secrets that were, apparently, not as secret as Peter would have liked.

    He could hear Wade chattering away in the kitchen, flipping through languages fast enough to make Peter’s stomach kick each time. With a groan, Peter rolled onto his stomach and pressed a pillow over his head. He didn’t care that his hair was still wet – he just wanted some quiet.

    Unfortunately, the pillow did nothing to muffle Wade’s chatter. Damned enhanced senses.

    “Could you _not_?” Peter demanded, voice muffled from beneath the pillow.

    He heard Wade pause. “Getting all hot and bothered, Petey?” the mercenary asked, a teasing note to his voice. “I would gladly give you some lovin’, DP style.”

    Peter groaned. Of _course_ Wade knew. “Shut up,” he growled, shifting so that he could glare at Wade through a gap in the sheets Wade had used in the fort. “I’ll kick you out,” he threatened.

    “Nu-uh. This is _my_ place – I get to kick _you_ out. Not that I will, of course. You and that ass are allowed to stay as long as you want.” Wade was grinning.

    “I don’t want to stay anymore,” Peter muttered.

    Wade gasped and dived into the pillow fort, managing to knock nothing over _and_ landing on Peter’s back. The mercenary’s weight was substantial, and forced the air from Peter’s lungs in a huff. Peter could have easily flipped the man off, but he just lay there, hands clenching around the pillow.

    He desperately tried to ignore the fluttering feeling in his chest when Wade leaned over to speak directly into his ear.

    “Don’t make me get out the handcuffs, baby boy,” Wade said, his voice deep and rough. Peter shivered. “Unless you’re into that sort of thing. I won’t judge.”

    Peter didn’t move when Wade jumped off him, skipping back into the kitchen without waiting for a response. He breathed deeply, inhaling the distinct scent of _Wade_ and feeling the warmth from his body slowly fading away.

    Peter felt something in his chest jerk.

    Without any conscious effort on his part, Peter found himself padding silently into the kitchen. He watched Wade for a moment as he danced around the kitchen, singing under his breath in Spanish.

    He’d been kidnapped, injured. He’d been run off his feet with work, drugged. Somehow, with all that had been going on, he’d found the time to start crushing even harder on the mercenary. It went beyond his usual crushes – and by now, he’d usually distanced himself from the object of his infatuation, unprepared to deal with the emotional baggage that he would inevitably have to sort through.

    Mostly, it was Wade’s fault he’d stayed. Given the chance, he would have run for the hills. As to _why_ he was crushing on the merc…

    Wade had proved that he was more than what people wrote about him time and time again. Not only with the languages, but also with the way he’d taken care of Peter, the way he’d still looked out for Peter when Wade knew that he could handle himself.

    He’d kept Peter’s identity a secret, for crying out loud. All those times Peter’s spider sense had gone off, warning him that the mercenary was turning deadly, and never once had Wade hurt him. The man was deadly efficient when he needed to be, acted like an overgrown child when he didn’t.

    Peter could easily see himself falling in love with the man, and it terrified him as much as it fascinated him.

    Wade turned, caught sight of him hovering in the doorway. “Food’s almost ready,” he said with a grin that stretched across his face.

    Peter moved again, stepping purposely into Wade’s space. He reached up, for the mask, and Wade’s hands snapped up to grip his wrists. The grin was gone, steely tension in its place.

    “What are you doing, Peter?” Wade asked, voice low. The way he said Peter’s name made Peter shiver all over again.

    “You can’t work it out?” he challenged, using his superior strength to break out of Wade’s grip and pin Wade’s hands to the counter. “I thought you were cleverer than that, Wade.”

    “And I thought you were smarter than coming at a mercenary without announcing your intentions,” Wade shot back. “Looks like we were both wrong.”

    Peter let go of Wade’s wrists, tilting his head as he regarded the taller man. “I’ll spell it out for you, then,” he said. “I’m going to lift up your mask. I’m going to kiss you. And then, if you’re lucky, I’ll suck you off.”

    Wade stopped breathing. “Is this real life, or is it a Fanta-sea?” he muttered to himself.

    Peter shut him up by doing exactly what he’d said he would do. He pulled Wade’s mask up to his nose, taking a second to observe the scars that riddled Wade’s skin. Without waiting for Wade to open his mouth and try and talk him out of it, Peter leaned up and kissed him.

    _This is a bad idea_ , he thought. But he _wanted_ , and when was the last time he’d let himself have something he wanted?

    Wade’s lips were surprisingly soft. The scars added texture, and Peter eagerly parted his lips to lick along the seam of Wade’s. With a surprised groan, Wade opened his mouth. He tasted like syrup – sweeter than Peter had anticipated, until he caught sight of the maple syrup on the bench. He almost rolled his eyes.

    Wade grabbed his waist and tried to pull him closer, but Peter remained firmly planted on the ground. He nipped at Wade’s lips, smirking when Wade muttered a curse.

    “What do you say, Deadpool?” Peter asked, pretending he didn’t hear the purr in his own voice. “Can I suck you off now?”

    “Please,” Wade said, voice almost pleading.

    Peter dropped to his knees, running his hands down those amazing thighs. He pulled open Wade’s pants, revealing the man’s rather sizeable erection. Peter supposed that anything smaller wouldn’t have been proportionate.

    It was also covered in scars. The scars on Wade’s face must have covered every inch of his skin – it would explain why the mercenary was so wary of showing said skin. The scars, though. They were a part of Wade. So while he took another moment to look, he couldn’t find it in himself to feel anything for them other than scientific curiosity.

    Probably best not to tell Wade that.

    Wade, however, had noticed Peter’s fascination. Peter watched as every muscle in Wade’s body went tense. His hands, which had been gripping Peter’s wet hair like it was a lifeline, dropped away.

    “Ah,” he said, voice clipped. “Totally understand if you wanna back out now, baby boy. I won’t think any less of you.”

    Peter tilted his head, running his eyes over Wade’s exposed cock. “That would mean you already have a low opinion of me,” he replied softly. He ran a gentle finger over one of the more prominent scars, feeling Wade’s thigh shudder underneath his other hand. “Did you think I would be scared away?”

    He leaned forward, licking at the tip, and Wade cursed. Wade’s hands wound back into Peter’s hair, tight enough that Peter felt his scalp prickle.

    “Did you think I’d run?” he asked, blowing air onto Wade’s cock and smirking when the mercenary shuddered again. “Did you think I’d go back on my word?”

    “It’s not the greatest looking thing to stick in your mouth,” Wade said. His voice was breathy – Peter counted it as another win.

    “Do I look like I’m bothered?” Peter asked, tilting his head up to meet the eyes of Wade’s mask. “Do I look like I’m running?”

    “ _Fuuuuuck_ ,” Wade muttered. “I really want you to do something more productive with that mouth, baby boy.”

    “The safe word is Canada,” Peter said, before leaning forward and sucking the tip into his mouth.

 

* * *

* * *

  

    " _Jesus_ ," Wade hissed as wet heat engulfed him and his eyes slammed shut at the sensation. He hardened that last, impossible bit as Peter's tongue teased the slit of his head. It had only taken the feeling of the smaller man overpowering him and pinning him to the counter to get him half hard.

    He'd come like a teenager at this rate.

    [Are we hallucinating? I honestly can't tell.]

    {Dude. Our hallucinations are good, but not _this_ good.}

    The tip of Peter's tongue inched lower to slip beneath his foreskin, causing sparks to shoot from that tiny point of contact up his spine in pulses. The tongue - AKA Wade's new best friend - retreated back a bit to wrap around his head and lips tightened to suck again. And again. And _again_.

    Wade could feel the exact moment when a wave of pleasure swept his boxes to the back of his mind. The blissful feeling of that alone was enough to make his toes curl. Of course, the tongue wrapped around the head of his cock was toe-curling good too. Amazing even.

    "Thanks," came an amused reply from between his legs. Wade pried eyes his open at the startled realization that he'd been talking out loud. Really, he shouldn't have been surprised.

    "Sorry, sorry." Wade looked back down but could only see his hands, his dick, and the tops of Peter's blazing red cheeks at this angle. He reluctantly loosened the tight grip he had on Peter's hair so the hero could tilt his head up. "I'll shut up now."

    "No, it's okay." Peter dragged his eyes back up to Wade's and smirked. His mouth was spit-shiny and had already begun to redden and swell. "Keep talking. I want you to."

    "Uhhhhh..." Yeah, no. He had nothing. Peter returned his attention back to Wade's cock when no intelligent response was given. He gave Wade's thighs a squeeze before he started talking again.

    "I'm surprised," Peter chuckled and wrapped a hand around the base of Wade's cock, "you haven't started speaking Spanish or something."

    "I can barely grasp the English language right now, Spidey." The hand around him tightened at the nickname and he bit back a groan. "I ca- _nngh_ -can't even form a coherent thought."

    "Good," Peter mumbled. Wade had to strain to hear the next words spoken to his dick like the hero was telling it a secret. "That means I'm doing something right."

    Wade carded his fingers through the hero's hair again, trying to soothe. Peter responded by - _fucking finally_ \- pressing his lips back to the tip in a gentle kiss.

    "Take the gloves off," Peter ordered against Wade's skin as he mouthed and kitten-licked his way slowly down until he nosed at the base.

    Wade quickly complied, tugged his gloves off with his teeth and flicked his head to toss them to the side. He buried his bare fingers back into Peter's damp hair. The cool texture of the locks sliding beneath his scarred palms was _almost_ as good as the hot drag of Peter's tongue moving up his shaft.

    "Come _on_ ," Wade whined. "Quit teasing."

    "Whatever I want, remember?" Peter tipped his head back - his cheek grazed the tip of Wade's dick, leaving a streak of precome - and raised an eyebrow. "I want to go slow."

    " _Ohmygah,_ " Wade tore his eyes away from Peter's. All he had seen was the hero's pupils and a thin ring of brown iris. Knowing he wasn't the only one enjoying this was a little too much to handle at the moment. "You want me to die, apparently."

    Peter slowly pulled his hand up from root to tip while he made a thoughtful hum. "What's that French phrase about orgasms and death?"

    " _La petite mort_?"

    "Yeah," Peter breathed. Wade looked back in time to see a shudder wrack the hero's body. He squeezed Wade again when the quake ended and that brought on an entirely new sensation. The tips of Peter's fingers suddenly felt different from the rest of his hands.

_That's not how he-?_ "Oh. _Oh._ Baby boy, you're really deep into the language kink, aren't ya?"

    Peter just flushed darker and twisted his hand slightly in lieu of an answer. And yep. Theory confirmed. _His hand is literally stuck to my dick right now. I might actually die._

    Wade cupped the back of Peter's head with one hand and gripped the scruff of his neck in the other. Peter allowed himself to be manhandled closer. " _Je ne peux pas penser à une meilleure façon de mourir_ , Peter."

    He was sucked back down a second later, farther than before. The air was punched out of Wade's lungs in a gasp at the feeling and he nearly doubled over, curling around the hero at his feet. His body - and even his boxes buried under the mounting pleasure - screamed at him to thrust, to claim, to _fuck_ , but Peter kept him in check. A hand digging brutally into the meat of his thigh restrained him, but it also added to the experience.

    Peter could crush him in his hands as easily as crushing an insect, and he _loved it_.

    Wade straightened up until he could see Peter's mouth and hand working him over. The hero's head bobbed up and down Wade's length, taking him a little deeper and a little faster with each pass. Spit began to collect at the corners of Peter's swollen lips and then dribbled down his chin when he pulled back enough to take a quick breath. He swirled his tongue around the head before sinking back down.

    "Where the flying _fuck_ did you learn to suck dick like that?" Wade wheezed. Peter's pace faltered for a second and the mercenary almost slapped himself. "No, _oh goddamn_. Don't fucking stop."

    Peter groaned around his mouthful and Wade mimicked the sound as it reverberated through him. Peter fumbled again, but this time it was to take his hand away from Wade's thigh.

    "What? _Nooooo_ ," Wade whined at the loss but then brightened when he realized what Peter was doing. Peter pulled his erection out of his borrowed sweats and stroked himself to the same pace as his mouth. "Holy fuck, _Spidey_."

    Peter moaned and sunk deeper. His lips now brushed his other hand were it was wrapped at the base again and Wade nearly blacked out at the sight. The tip of his cock was nudging against the back of Peter's throat and Peter swallowed around him.

    Wade bucked forward instantly with apologies and curses spewing out of his mouth. Peter gagged slightly but only moved back an inch to compensate. Sometime during this, Wade had closed his eyes, but he risked opening them again.

    He kinda wished he had resisted the temptation.

    Peter's pupil blown eyes were locked on his face. Unshed tears - from the accidental thrust and nothing else, he hoped - made them impossibly bright. Wade tried to shut his mouth to stop whatever the hell he was saying but it was futile.

    Peter swallowed again with a determined look on his pretty face.

    " _Haaa_ -hang on, Petey." Wade scrambled to get a grip on the hero's shoulders. He didn't remember moving them. "I'm not gonna last." Peter's hand on his own cock sped up and he swallowed again. "Peter, _please!_ ""

    The next few seconds blurred together as Wade lost himself in the best blow job he had ever been given. The sensation of Peter's mouth and hand, the heady scent of sex, and the wet sounds of it all bled together until he could only see white. Peter gave one last, long suck and Wade was gone.

    For about five seconds.

    {That. Was. _Awesome_.}

    [Understatement.]

    {That was _hella_ awesome. He fucking swallowed too. Bonus points.}

    Wade huffed in annoyance. "No one says 'hella' anymore, loser."

    "Oh, I don’t know," a raspy voice interrupted to bring Wade back to reality. He looked up - _When the hell did I end up on the floor?_ \- in time to see Peter tucking himself back into his sweats. "I think hella can be applied here."

    Wade glanced down to see that he had been tucked back in too. _Sneaky_. He eyed Peter again and waved a hand in the general direction of Peter's crotch. "Did you-?"

    "Yep," Peter chirped.

    "Good. I mean, I would've happily returned the favor if you hadn't, but I would've needed a minute or twenty. I'm pretty sure I can't move right now."

    {Fuck moving ever again. We can die in peace now.}

    [If only we could truly die from getting head.]

    { _Spectacular_ head.}

    "Hella spectacular," Wade agreed. Peter rolled his eyes at him but Wade was 90% sure it was in fondness. He grabbed the hand that was offered to him and squealed when he was lifted effortlessly. " _Hella_."

    "You can stop saying hella now," Peter said, a laugh hidden behind his words. Wade took in all the little details of his face now that they were nearly eye level again. The hero certainly looked happier than he had been, his doe eyes were still bright and his cheeks still flushed, but Wade had no idea what had brought this all on.

    {Don't question it. Just accept it.}

    [I'm gonna have to agree with Yellow on that one.]

    Wade ignored his boxes and reached out to grip one of Peter's shoulders. "Not that that wasn't the best thing that's ever happened to me, _ever_ , but I gotta ask. What the hell led to that?"

    Peter shrugged lightly under his hand, suddenly becoming shy. "That was a thank you, Deadpool."

    "A thank you?" Wade parroted back in surprise. His hand slipped from Peter's shoulder.

    "Yeah, ya know," Peter mumbled as he look around the kitchen, avoiding Wade's gaze. "For taking care of me. For proving to me that I was wrong about you and so was everyone else. For keeping my secrets."

    [Are you fucking kidding me?]

    {Well. I'm sad now.}

    [He sucked us off out of gratitude.]

    {That's almost as bad as a pity fuck.}

    "That was okay, wasn't it?" Peter asked suddenly. "I didn't make you uncomfortable, did I?"

    Wade mentally reeled at that. No one had ever asked him that after sex before. He fumbled for a response before finally settling on a believable laugh. "What? Me uncomfortable? Nah. Don't be silly."

    "O-okay. If you're sure," Peter said as he scrunched up his nose. "Uh, Deadpool? I think dinner is burning."

    "Oh, _shit!_ " Wade spun around and dove for the stove. He yanked on his oven mitts and pulled the smoking pan out. "My chimichangas!"

    Peter joined him at the stove and peeked around his shoulder. "That doesn't look like chimichangas. For many reasons. One being chimichangas are supposed to be fried, not baked. It looks like a lasagna or a casserole."

    "Rude. I have a very good reason for them being burnt. And shut up, you can totally bake chimichangas."

    "I don't care if it's burnt. I'll still eat it." He grabbed a couple of forks from of the counter and stabbed them into the dish, ignoring the plates Wade had laid out. "Between my aunt's cooking and my friend Johnny's idea of barbeque, I've had worse."

    "Well, you've already had my pancakes. My cooking only goes downhill from their perfection." Wade dug in and they stood, shoulder to shoulder, eating straight from the pan. A fork battle over the middle portion was the only thing that kept the silence from becoming too uncomfortable.

    But nothing would be able to distract from the boxes as they ranted, mentally pushing behind his eyes and between his ears so they couldn't be ignored.

    [Did you think he would ever really like you?]

    {How could someone as perfect as him ever like someone like us?}

    [He only gets turned on by you doing something that contradicts how much of a fucking _idiot_ that we all know you are.]

    {How could someone like him ever be with someone like us?}

    [You're fucking pathetic for ever thinking this could be something more.]

    "Are you okay?" Peter asked, breaking Wade out of his reverie. He had a fork dripping cheese paused halfway to his mouth and there was no telling how long he had been stuck like that.

    "Peachy, sweety." Wade dropped his fork and reached over to pat Peter's cheek only to drop it when he remembered his hands were bare.

    [Put the gloves back on. He doesn't want to be touched by our skin.]

    Wade scooped his gloves up off the floor and pulled them on while he felt Peter's eyes following his every movement. He mustered up a reassuring smile for the hero only to realize his mask was still rolled up to his nose and had been the whole time.

    {Pull the mask back down. He doesn't want to see that shit.}

    He tugged it down, feeling like he was moving on autopilot.

    [Maybe, if you're _lucky_ , he'll suck us off again. As a _thank you_.]

    {Better than nothing.}

    "You're hair looks great, beeteedubs." Wade pointed at the hero's head, trying to draw attention away from himself. Peter's hair had dried wildly, much to Wade's amusenent. "Awww. Don't fix it. It's my new favorite aesthetic."

    "Shut up," Peter grumbled as his signature blush made its return. He ran his hands over his head a few times before giving up with an exasperated sigh. "I'm gonna go brush my teeth."

    "Such a good example," Wade called after him as he retreated. "Spidey brushes his teeth after every meal and every blowjob."

    Peter didn't respond so Wade attempted to distract himself by tidying. That quickly became boring and he ended up outside the bathroom. Peter didn't look surprised to see him when he opened the door a minute later and gestured for Wade to enter.

    "I'll tell you one of my secrets," Wade whispered conspiratorially as he traded places with the hero. Peter raised an eyebrow in interest. "Chimichangas aren't even in my top ten favorite foods. It's just my favorite word."

    He shut the door before Peter could respond.

    {His face was priceless.}

    "Are you two giving it a rest now?"

    [Of course not.]

    {We're just gonna let you get cleaned up.}

    [Before we go back to mentally torturing you.]

    "Of course. Should've known I wouldn't get off that easily."

    Wade stood outside the pillow fort a few minutes later, debating whether or not he should join the hero. _Fuck it_ , he thought. _I ain't gonna let the awkward post-blowjob tension keep me out._ He crawled in before he - or his boxes - could change his mind. Peter was laying on his back, staring into space.

    "Go to sleep," Wade said when Peter caught him looking. "We're going to get your stuff tomorrow." Wade flopped down on the pile of pillows and blankets and rolled to face away from Peter. "And then we're going to hunt down the Hydra cell that's after you."

    "What?" Peter asked, sounding startled. "I thought we were going to wait until you got a hit on them and then I'd plan first."

    "We'll have all day tomorrow to plan. We'll go after them at night."

    "You don't think that's a little too soon?"

    "I want this to be over with ASAP." Wade glanced over his shoulder. Peter was propped up on his elbows, staring back. "Don't you?"

    "Yeah," Peter replied slowly, sounding strange. Wade ignored it. "Yes, of course."

    "Get some sleep then, Petey." Wade curled around a pillow and settled in. He listened to Peter do the same. "You can worry your pretty little head over it tomorrow."

    Peter made a doubtful noise as he shifted around. A heavy silence quickly enveloped them and Wade tried not to notice how their breathing pattern had synced up. The hero moved around some more before finally settling with a whispered, "G'night, Wade."

    He tightened his grip on his pillow and whispered back. "Sweet dreams, baby boy."

    [{Pathetic.}]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for being absent so long, I got desperate and turned my phone into a wifi hotspot - just watching that data draaaaaiiiin. Still, it's for a good cause.


	9. The Chapter That Has Been Sitting Done For Ages That I Completely Forgot About So Sorry About That Everyone

    Peter was a solid 80% sure he’d fucked up.

    Wade was being weird. Well, weirder than usual, which wouldn’t have been all that strange if Wade wasn’t being weird towards _him_. Considering that Peter had _sucked him off_ , Wade was acting like Peter had instead… Kicked his dog, or something equally bad.

    Worse was that he didn’t know how to fix it. He didn’t have a clue what he’d down wrong – Peter was _sure_ Wade had enjoyed the blowjob, so it wasn’t that – and therefore had no idea how to fix it. And he _wanted_ to fix it. This awkward tension rubbed him the wrong way, getting under his skin.

    He thought of himself as a pretty intelligent guy, supported by his qualifications and the work he did on a day to day basis. If there was one thing he was bad at, however, it was social interactions. And not just of the romantic variety. Continuously supplied evidence – feedback from friends, co-workers, even his _bosses_ – made it impossible for Peter to be unaware of it.

    Peter _hated_ that he just couldn’t seem to figure social cues out. He was clueless at the best of times, and this situation with Wade was driving him up the wall.

    The kicker? The two of them had just arrived at Peter’s apartment, and Wade was poking around in his things. Peter felt the tension heavy in the air, weighing heavily on his shoulders as he pulled out his suit. His web shooters were already snug on his wrist, their familiar weight helping him to keep calm.

    Wade was playing with the pens on his desk – and muttering to himself – when Peter decided he didn’t want to be the fuck up anymore. He whirled around, marched over to Wade and glared up at him.

    Predictably, Wade paused to look at him. “What’s up, bubble butt?” he asked, his eyes flickering down to the suit Peter clenched in his hands. “All ready to go?”

    Peter took a breath. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not very good with social… stuff,” he started. “I don’t _get_ it. I say things and do things and sometimes they’re the wrong things but I don’t _know_. I can’t tell unless someone points it out.”

    Wade interrupted him with a raised hand. “We’re all good, Petey. Don’t go worrying your pretty little head.”

    Normally, Peter would take his word for it. But Wade wasn’t looking him in the eye. His tone was flat. He was hardly moving his hands. And he was _still_ muttering to himself.

    Peter thought that it might be because Wade’s reactions were always so over the top, he could tell when Wade wasn’t okay. He could tell, right now, that Wade was lying to him, because there was _something_ wrong and Peter knew it had to be him who’d made it that way.

    “You enjoyed the b-blowjob,” he said, cursing himself for stuttering. He felt his ears burn, but pushed on. “I know you did; you can’t fake that. So it must have been something I said.” Peter frowned, reaching over to place a hand on Wade’s arm. “I don’t want to have fucked up before the beginning,” he said, voice soft and vulnerable. He hated that side of himself, the unsureness that constantly plagued him.

    “Look, Petey, when I say we’re good, we’re good. Do you have everything?” Wade paused, almost turning into a statue beneath Peter’s hand. “Wait, what? The beginning of what?”

    Peter tilted his head. “What?”

    “I know that… Shut up, I _know_. He said as thanks… Don’t make me do it, Yellow. But beginning of what? Spidey’s making no sense!”

    “I’m making perfect sense,” Peter replied, a bit insulted. “You’re just not following.”

    Wade nodded. “Definitely not following. 100% not following. So give me a road map, yeah? Beginning of what?”

    Peter felt himself blush, and removed his hand from Wade’s arm. He moved to turn away, but Wade caught him by the shoulders and made Peter look at him.

    “Beginning of what?” he repeated.

    “I just – I thought – ” _You wanted me_. The words got trapped, and Peter turned his face away, unable to look Wade in the eyes. Had he been wrong? Peter had been so _sure_ , but maybe Wade _didn’t_ like him. He bit his lip, insecurities flaring up.

    “You thought what? That I’d see a sexual favour as an appropriate thank you?” Wade demanded.

    “I – _no_!” Peter exclaimed horrified. “No, that’s not what I meant –”

    Wade’s face twisted, and he was clearly not listening to Peter anymore. “I wouldn’t expect someone who only appreciates other peoples’ smarts to understand their _feelings_ ,” he said, voice soft and cold, “but can you even understand how that might be hurtful?”

    “I didn’t –” Peter started, but Wade stepped closer, his entire posture screaming fury. Peter’s spider-sense sent a shudder down his spine.

    “You know, for someone who’s attracted to intelligence, you’re pretty dumb sometimes.”

    Peter’s voice failed him. He’d really fucked up, and he had no idea how to apologize…

    And then he registered the way Wade was speaking about what attracted him to people, noted the derisive tone of his voice as he spoke about Peter’s unconscious and unwanted likes, the way Wade was worrying at the fact that Peter was attracted to intelligent people like a dog with a new bone.

    Something inside him… Snapped.

    The first pulse of his web shooter slapped across Wade’s still moving mouth. Peter didn’t think that there was anything Wade could say right now that would improve the situation. Before the mercenary could blink, Peter had his arms webbed to his sides and his torso stuck to the wall of Peter’s apartment. He had no doubt that Wade had something sharp within reach, but he wasn’t worried. By the time Wade got free, Peter would be gone.

    “I’m sorry,” Peter said, sounding absolutely insincere. “But I don’t really think I want to hear you insulting me anymore. And here I thought I wouldn’t have to worry about you being a dick about something like this, but I guess that was me just being naïve, right?”

    Peter pulled on his Spider-man suit, pointedly not looking at Wade as he changed. He left his mask for last, playing with it for a moment before swinging back around to face Wade. “I thought you wanted me,” he said, ignoring the little crack in his voice. “I thought that I wasn’t alone in this stupid little _crush_ ,” the word tasted bitter on his tongue, “but apparently I was wrong. I apologize for making that mistake.”

    Wade was listening now. Peter could tell because he wasn’t moving, hardly breathing. His attention was fixed on Peter, even as Peter pulled on his mask and moved towards the window. Peter paused there, swallowing around a lump in his throat.

    “If you…” he began, squeezing the window frame so tightly that it started to splinter under his fingers. “If you think that little of me, maybe you should just let Hydra catch me. I’d make excellent bait.”

    And with that, Peter was gone, leaving the mercenary webbed up in his apartment and fighting back tears.

 

* * *

* * *

 

      Hours later when Wade had finally freed himself from the webs the expression on Peter's face as he fled the apartment was still fresh in his mind. His boxes were uncharacteristically quiet and Wade was getting the impression that they were deep in thought in their respective corners of his brain. Maybe they were haunted by how Peter had looked too, with his eyes bright from the morning light shining onto his unshed tears.

     The longer he looked at the mental image the more twisted it became until all that was left was _hatred_ on the young hero's face.

     [Okay. I'll be the bigger box and be the first to admit that we were wrong.]

     Wade hummed in acknowledgement and thumped his head against the alley wall he was leaning on. His body was still sore from dislocating his limbs to reach one of his knives and the healing had left his stomach growling. But the thought of eating anything threatened to make him physically sick.

     {Yeah we were wrong... But mostly White.}

     [Fuck you. I was right about a lot of things. It's just hard to believe someone like _him_ could actually like someone like _us_.]

     "Now he hates us." Wade laughed bitterly. He thumped his head back even harder until a headache began to form. Eh, what did it matter? It would be gone faster than it had come anyway. "And he was the one worried about having 'fucked up before the beginning'."

     The sun was going down and the city was getting quieter. _Spidey's out fighting crime right now_ , Wade thought, ignoring the stab of hurt that accompanied it.

     {We should be with him!}

     White snorted. [I think he’s made his stance on our involvement quite clear.]

     White was right, but Wade couldn’t do _nothing_. "I gotta go talk to him," Wade grumbled as he pushed himself away from the wall. "I can't leave shit like this."

     {That's the spirit, big guy!}

     [Good luck. And I'm saying that seriously this time. No sarcasm.]

     {I'm gonna cry.}

     "Thanks, guys. It's nice to know that you two like him as much as I do."

     {Who doesn't like Spider-man?}

     [Besides his rogue’s gallery? J. Jonah Jameson.]

     {Oh yeah. Fuck that guy.}

 

* * *

 

    It didn't take long to track the hero down. Wade had done it so many times before he could probably find Spider-man in his sleep. All he really had to do was follow the _thwip thwip_ sounds _._

[Kid should really find a way to silence those things.]

     {No way! The _thwip thwip_ is cool!}

     "And he's surprised about why he's easy to find," Wade whispered, peering around the corner of an alley that Spider-man was subduing a criminal in. The guy was putting up a fight but Spidey was just toying with him. Wade paused to watch Spidey drop fluidly to all fours, skirting around the criminal before rushing in.

     "Quit following me, Deadpool!" Peter called out angrily as he dodged a punch. "I don't want to talk to you."

     {Busted! Told ya he'd catch on to our sneakiness.}

     [Did his mother ever teach him not to play with his food?]

     "You and I are done working together," the hero said, slamming the criminal against the wall and beginning to web him up. "If I see any Hydra agents I'll handle them myself. Or tell the Avengers if I have too. You should do the same."

     "Spidey," Wade began as he stepped out of the convenient shadows. But Peter was on a roll.

     "And I don't even care about that book anymore. You're right. I don't need it," Peter picked the cocooned thug and started to walk away without a single glance at the merc. "I don't need it and I don't need _you_."

     [{Ouch.}]

     "Spider-man, liste-."

     "No! I'm done listening! Especially when I'm being insulted for something I can't control, you bastard!" Peter shouted and tossed the his catch onto the street for the police to collect. He sighed heavily and lifted an arm up, ready to swing away. "Just go already, Wade."

     Wade grabbed the outstretched arm by the wrist and tugged the hero around to face him. " _Please_ ," he took advantage of the hero's shock and tangled their gloved fingers together. "Let me talk."

     "Fucking fa-"

     Wade whipped a gun out and aimed at the cocooned baddie without looking away from Peter's mask. "I don't think ya wanna finish that sentence, buddy."

      "Fine, Deadpool." Peter tugged his hand away. "But it better be a heartfelt apology."

     He hooked an arm around Wade's waist and quickly swung them up unto the closest building. Sure, it was a little rougher than usual, but nothing Wade couldn’t handle. Peter let go of Wade quicker than usual, taking a step away from Wade.

     {God. I love that feeling. Make up with him so we don't lose that.}

     [Or you know. So we don't lose him in general.]

     {Wow, White. So sentimental.}

     "I know, right? I'm surprised too."

     "Surprised? We've done that before."

     "Ignore that, Spidey." Wade took his seat at the edge of the building and patted the spot next to him. "Come sit by me."  

      It only hurt a little bit when Peter sat farther away than normal, his arms folded tightly across his chest.

     "We're always talking up above everyone, huh?" Wade laughed brightly, trying to change the awkward tension. "I like it up here. Just the two of us."

     "Deadpool, if you're not gonna apologi-"

     "I'm sorry, Peter. I had a lot of time to think while I was webbed up - you totally ruined one of my suits, beeteedubs - and you're right. I, off all people, should know better to judge who you're attracted to. I really am sorry for hurting you. I just don't get why you're even thinking about _beginning_ something with me."

     "I told you before!" Peter snapped. "I was wrong about you! I thought you were an idiot, a bloodthirsty murderer who only liked money."

     "I am all that, though."

     "No! You're - well I _thought_ you were - kind, caring, funny, and so damn _smart_. The more I got to know you the more I lo- _liked_ you."

     {I'm confused because he's saying nice things but he's still angry?}

     [What is the truth.]

     "That's the thing, Petey. We don't really _know_ each other. And that’s 110% not just your fault, that’s on both of us. So,” Wade continued, swallowing his sudden nerves down as best he could, “how about we give this a try the right way – after we teach Hydra not to fuck with us, of course."

     Peter cocked his head, leaning a little closer to Wade, which he counted as a good thing. "The right way?"

     "I mean, if you wanna," Wade mumbled and awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. "I haven't really dated anyone in a long time but..."

     "You mean," Peter squeaked, "you want to go on a _date_?"

     "Yes. I want to get to know you, Peter. And I'd rather you never learn anything more about me, but that's not how relationships work."

     After a long silence, during which Wade contemplated jumping off the roof, Peter finally spoke. "I-I'm still mad, Wade." Peter said, twisting his hands in his lap. "I can't just accept your apology so easily. I messed up first when I did _that_ , but I wasn't trying to intentionally hurt your feelings like you did." 

     "I said some fucked up shit. You don't have to forgive me right away. Or ever. As long as you don't hate me. I can't stand the thought of you hating me." Wade reached into one of his pouches and pulled out the little book that started it all. "Here. You can have this back."

     "Huh? You're giving this back? B-but what about Hydra?"

     "I know you can handle yourself, baby boy. The other night not included, of course." Wade said, teasingly. "You were distracted and got jumped. Happens to the best of us."

     Peter huffed a laugh and fiddled with the book in his lap.

     "It's kinda flattering," Wade continued, "that I'm distracting enough to throw you off your game. You're distracting too. Even before all this I was always torn between watching the way you move when you fight and jumping in to save you. But I know you don't need anyone to save you."

     Wade turned to check Peter's expression but in the next second, Wade was flat on his back and straddled. Peter's hands scrambled at Wade's throat causing a flare of panic. "What are y-?"

     "I'm still a little mad at you, but I'm gonna kiss you now," Peter replied bluntly as he exposed Wade's mouth. He ripped his own mask off and Wade shivered at the sight of tousled hair, flushed cheeks, and dark eyes. He looked like he wanted to _eat_ Wade and it had been so long since someone had looked at him like that.

     "Yes, please."

     "I wasn't really asking, Wade."

     Peter dove down, licked the seam of his lips, and pushed in. Wade ran one hand into the back of Peter's hair and gripped his hip in the other. They kissed heatedly for awhile, tangling tongues and nipping at each other's lips, until it turned into something more sensual. Mouths sliding together wetly and sharing breath. The scars around his mouth ached.

     Wade tugged on Peter's hair to pull his mouth away when it became too much and pressed their foreheads together.

     "What brought that on?" Wade asked when he had finally caught his breath. Peter tucked his face into Wade's neck and mumbled. The feeling of Peter's lips brushing against his skin caused him to giggled. "While that's unbearable cute, I can't actually hear you."

     "...It's just," Peter started a little louder, "you treat me differently from everyone else. You're different. In a good way. Not the way I thought before. And I..." he pressed in again, this time wrapping his arms around the merc and squeezing. "...I'm looking forward to our date."

     His boxes were never gonna let him forget it but Wade couldn't keep in the tears that welled up and soaked through his mask. He wrapped his arms around the hero and replied shakily, "Me too, Petey. Me too."

     {Don't cry! I'll cry!}

     [You would have cried anyway.]

     "You guys are ruining the moment."

     "Wade? Who are yo-"

     "Shhhhh. _Moment_."

     "...God you're weird."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I am a piece of work and forgot we'd finished a chapter, it's been sitting on my computer since fucking February... Sorry >.>


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